


"Paging Dr. Watson."

by Johnlockthedoors



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock AU - Fandom
Genre: Drug Addiction, Explicit Language, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:21:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 34,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1345642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlockthedoors/pseuds/Johnlockthedoors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is sent to a rehab center for youth for his careless abuse of both heroine and cocaine. There he meets John, an intern studying to be a Doctor who has the misfortune of being assigned to Sherlock's case. Will the two butt heads and become enemies as Sherlock attempts to weasel his way out of the hospital...or....will John have an unexpected affect on the troubled boy causing what might possibly be the quickest and most powerful addiction Sherlock Holmes has ever craved?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Change and the Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://s64.photobucket.com/user/Johnlockthedoors/media/8338c594-c98a-498f-a787-b263e8375d88_zps698d441b.jpg.html)

**~Sherlock's POV~**

  "No!! This is absolutely ridiculous, completely absurd and I utterly refuse to participate." Sherlock sulks in the chair of the well lit hospital room angry and defiant as always. The room's florescent lights shinning too brightly in his tired, green-blue eyes. The bed uninviting and the temperature too cold as he sat in nothing but his skin and a too loose hospital gown which was not at all flattering to his too pale, frighteningly skinny figure. His black curls a tangled mess from both frustration and lack of a proper combing. "Sherlock, it's for your good." His brother stated, dressed, as always, prim and proper as a government official should be. Standing straight in his black suit and tie, leaning restlessly against the support of a matching black umbrella. "My own good?....My own GOOD, Mycroft?" You are shipping me off to be with some drug addicted, emo wanna-be kids with obvious mommy issues because I had a SLIGHT mishap with some...chemicals." Sherlock pouted and bit his lip in anger and protest. Mycroft raises his eyebrows in stunned amusement. "A 'slight' mishap?.....'chemicals?' Sherlock?! You were out of your MIND on HEROINE what CHOICE did we have? You know how upset Mummy is and don't even get me started on how you almost defiled my status as a reliable and upstanding reference. I had to pay off almost everyone at the university just to keep this little 'mishap' of yours under wraps. Not to mention the..." Sherlock cut him off with a thundering loud roar. "Ha!! Hahahaa Oh!!" He smiled defiantly. "Now, I see!! We can't go making the British government look bad, now can we? Sherlock can do whatever he pleases, good or bad and nobody seems to care. The second he does something to make Mycroft look bad, Oh! Parties over, kids!! All shenanigans are to be put on hold lest the Prince loose his royal thrown!" He rolls his eyes and stalks slowly towards his suitcase, pulling on his robe, disgusted and pouting like a child. "Sherlock, this isn't about me." Mycroft attempts with a feigned calm he doesn't truly feel.

  Sherlock just sulks on the too firm bed while playing with the ties on the blue silk robe his brother had brought for him. A christmas present some years ago when the last Holmes family had once held holiday dinners. "....How long?" he asks, knowing he is not going to like the answer. "Mummy and I thought about 6 months to a year." Sherlock's eyes widened in horror. "A year!" he shouted and jumped to his feet so fast that if he blinked, Mycroft would have missed the move entirely. "Yes, a year. You've been getting increasingly worse, Sherlock and we are all worried that if you continue down this path your life may turn a very dark and gruesome corner." The younger brother rolls his eyes and huffs while somehow still gracefully plopping down onto the sill of the too wide window in his temporary hospital quarters. "When do I leave?" he says so quietly that his brother had to strain to hear it. "Tomorrow. We have everything arranged and we just need you to sign these papers for your PoA should anything...ahem...happen whilst on your visit." Sherlock looked stunned, as if someone had struck him and knocked the air from his lungs. "You want me to sign my life away to you or one of Mummies henchmen to handle my things incase I...I...what? OD on painkillers, shoot up some bad drug or die from a row trying to buy from a rubbish coke dealer who's had one too many to offer a break to a junkie kid in need of a fix?!" Mycroft looked hurt, hell, he was starting to appear as if he was the one who was struck. He sighed and took a deep breath before speaking. "Brother mine, this is for your own good...your own...protection. Besides you don't currently have a lot of possessions and so therefore not much to really worry about. So I don't know what you are getting yourself so worked up about."

  Sherlock sat stewing in his anger, resentment and yes, disappointment although he would never allow his older brother the satisfaction of knowing that little bit of information. If this is what he wanted Sherlock was certainly willing to play the game. What his brother did not anticipate was just how well Sherlock knew the board. "Fine. Give me the papers, I'll sign myself away so you can all carry on with your perfect lives while I rot in hospital." Mycroft wanted to respond but he knew his little brother and that would just lead to more attempted guilt and anger. He signed the papers and Mycroft started out of the room stopping only when he heard the oh, too familliar squeak of the bed springs. "Sherlock?" He asked. No response...."Sherlock, could you...could you at least...try, this time?" A snort. Nothing else. Mycroft leaves but not before offering up a disappointed sigh and a nod of his head. Tomorrow was to come faster than he thought and everything was about to change.

**~John's POV~**

*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP* The blonde man turned over to pound the alarm with his hand as he sat up yawning in his bed. "Right, 6 o'clock...Ugh, God help me I think I am actually nervous." He rubbed his hands over his face and wiped his tired green eyes while he attempted to wake himself up. Climbing out of bed he walked across the tile floor heading for the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. The temperature was unnaturally cold this particular morning and he made a mental note to speak to the caretaker about that. Stepping out of the shower he cleared off the mirror and set his razor in position for a shave. He could hear the t.v. click on, his second alarm, to BBC News and he listened for anything potentially interesting. He finished his shave and walked through the dimly lit bedroom into his kitchen. The floor was freezing and caused him to jump slightly when he first approached. Right, slippers. Going back to his bedroom he turned the corner too quickly and slammed is knee against the wardrobe. "Shit...shit...Ahh, damnit!" What a way to start his first day. If he continued like this the patients would eat him up. Sighing quietly he carefully slipped his socks and slippers on and gingerly made his way to the kitchen to make some coffee. He turned the kettle on and started making breakfast. Cereal, he can't go wrong with that. He poured the milk over the Shreddies and waited for the familiar whistle of the kettle. His phone buzzed, his third alarm, at the same time the kettle whistled. He set about making his coffee.

  John often wondered why he set the extra alarms. It's not like he actually needed three, his past military life had him trained to be up at the crack of dawn regardless of the amount of sleep he had the night before. He sat in silence eating his breakfast and sipping his coffee watching the morning news. Nothing interesting there, hopefully today wouldn't be a total bust. He had started it off pretty badly though and that had him wondering about what, or rather who, he was to be assigned on his first day. They were to be clocked in at 7:50 am and in the board room for 8:00 am sharp for their morning meeting and first job handouts. They were then given the names, room numbers and files of the patients they would be overseeing for the next 6 months to a year. John had a feeling that if his day didn't start getting better right now, that the rest of his year is about to be a potential disaster waiting to happen. Sighing he ran his hands through his hair and got himself up to get dressed.

  Dressed in his green scrubs and donning his late father's stethoscope he took one final look at himself in the mirror. Offering himself up a little pep talk before heading out. "Well, Watson, this is it. The first day of the rest of your life. Let's try to do this properly and maybe you might just save a life...Even if it is just your own." He gave a halfhearted laugh at himself and a proud smile. He knew it had taken a lot to get here and his mom had sacrificed so much to make sure that he had everything he needed to get to where he was today. He knew this, but deep in his heart he knew that she did it because she knew he had always wanted to be exactly like his father. He wanted to be a Doctor, to help people, to save a life and make his dad proud. John looked down at the photo of his father that sat leaning against the corner of the mirror. He placed a hand on the stethoscope with a smile and whispered "thanks, dad. I hope I am making you proud." At that he sighed, turned, grabbing his coat and headed out to face the day. He left for the car park, heading to the hospital eager, anxious, nervous but content because for some reason, he couldn't understand, he had this deep feeling in his gut that his entire world was about to change.


	2. Letting Go

**~Sherlock POV~**

 

"Oh, for God sake!!" Sherlock could throw a tantrum like nobody's business and right now he was in the middle of a rather embarrassing one. Mycroft, stood watching in disbelief and annoyance as his younger brother's possessions were being tossed about his new quarters like a pinata had just burst undergarments and hissy fits. "Where are they, then?" Sherlock asked rather rudely. "Where?! Mycroft? Where. Are. They?!" He shouted while throwing everything he owned in the air and across the room. Mycroft sighs and decides to take pity on the man. "You know you can't have them. It's why you are here, Sherlock." He attempts with a calmness he hopes his brother will adopt. It doesn't work. "I NEED some...Get me some!!" He barks at his brother. "Sherlock, I am not going out to buy you cigarettes. Cold turkey, remember? You are to quit everything until you can manage this addic....Good, GOD! Will you stop throwing a hissy fit? Sherlock Holmes you are not a child!!" Mycroft finally lost his calm demeanor he had tried so hard to maintain. He has had enough of dealing with his younger brother's Do-what-I-Like attitude. Sherlock turned and glared at him, raising an eyebrow and offered his older brother a look of pure condescension. Mycroft took one last deep breath and turned to walk away. His words at that point were the ones he was trying so hard to keep inside. "Brother mine, haven't you used enough people to get what you want? You've upset Mummy and you've broken my heart. I will see to it you are taken care of here but don't expect any sympathy from me. In fact, I feel more for the poor Doctor who will be forced to handle you for the next 6 months. Goodbye." Sherlock snorted "Handle me. There's nothing wrong with ME." Mycroft turned slightly to look back in pity at his younger brother. "No, brother mine, there is nothing wrong with you." He glances down at the deep track marks on Sherlock's arms and turns and walks away.

  Sherlock stops and looks around his room, breathing heavily as he feels a familiar tightening in his chest. He is alone. Again. He shouldn't care, though. He should be happy, alone allows him to do what he wants except now he can't. He can't leave. He can't stay. He can't think...God, why couldn't he think? his brain wasn't working. His heart was pounding and it all felt too overwhelming...He started to panic as his breathing increased and he began to shake. He burst out into a cold sweat and he felt sick. Oh, god, he felt sick. He looked around for a bathroom but couldn't find one in the room. He started to analyze the situation at hand. His mind was reeling.... _What the hell was this?....Oh God, shared bathroom? Why?! Ugh, this is great...just great._ He took another look waste basket next to night stand and he grabbed it and sat on the floor. He sat just in time to feel the pain of sick in his belly, throat and head.  _Withdrawals, oh fuck!...._ And he hadn't even met his doctor yet. He stayed on the floor, half sitting and half leaning against the side of his new bed. Panting, shaking and, God help him, sobbing. This, was not what he wanted....This was torture and he bet Mycroft would be laughing....This, this was most definitely NOT going to work out well for anybody. He needed a fix and he needed it fast. He didn't like this feeling at all. This...helpless, needless hurting that could be cured with just a small amount of....something...ANYTHING....but he knew he had nothing. Mycroft would have destroyed his drugs as well as his cigarettes. He felt a familiar pull of his insides as he threw his head into the bucket. Pain. Sick. Pain. Cold sweat. Sick and pain. This he was going to regret, hell he already did.  _Damn you, Mycroft! Why couldn't you just piss off and leave me well enough alone?_ He couldn't handle this. He hated this part of coming down. He felt like he was dying. He felt so cold and more alone than he had ever felt in his entire life. Why had he left him here? Why was nobody helping him and why the fuck was this floor so bloody cold? He wretched again and again until he felt weak from it...hoping he was finished. Wishing for something to kill the pain. His head fell to the floor as he attempted to calm himself. It was useless.

  He felt terrible now. Worse than he had any other time he let himself go too long without a fix. He had nothing to take and nowhere to get anything. Any drugs or alcohol he had in his system was now between the waste basket and the floor. Shit....Now he had to do laundry. Ugh....He would not give in....He would NOT give in to this. He tried to regulate his breathing and attempted to stand. He got to his feet only momentarily until the room spun and he started to fall. He should be feeling the floor by now...He should be in pain and blacking out...instead he felt a pair of strong, warm arms around him. Someone had caught him, was growling something incoherent under their breath while laying him gently in bed. He could only hear echos and faint voices now. Something about _cleaning...what a mess and can this bad day get any worse?_ Darkness now. Sleep. Peace....Sherlock breathed deep and resigned himself to slumber but not before the brief feeling of a warm hands on him. On on his forehead and another on his wrist. He felt sweaty and cold at the same time but the hand was gentle and reassuring. Checking his pulse and temperature. If Sherlock could survive these next few hours he would have to find out who those hands belonged to. He wasn't used to anyone being so gentle with him and God help him, he actually kind of appreciated it. He laughed silently to himself and drifted off, letting sleep finally take him...Maybe this was a dream, a very bad dream of withdrawal, fights with Mycroft, pathetic sobbing and warm doctor's hands. God help him though, because as much as he hated to admit it he really didn't want those hands to be a dream. _  
_


	3. Serendipity?

**~John's POV~**

 

Traffic is busy in London for this time of day. John glances at the clock on the dash, already 7:45 and John knows he will be late. _Perfect, and on my first day_  he thinks, more slightly annoyed. Ten minutes later he pulls up outside the clinic, he parks the car and heads into the clinic. He makes his way in to find the rest of the interns are already on their way to the meeting room. He politely asks the location of the time clock and, of course, it's down the other side of the long winding hallway. He makes his way to the clock and digs out the information card he had received at orientation the day he was offered the position. He punched in the required information and waited for the BEEP to let him know he was in. He turned on his heel and quickly made his way back to the meeting room. Checking his watch before he went in, 8:10  _bloody hell!_ _This is going to be embarrassing._

  He attempted a quiet, near silent, entrance hoping nobody would notice his late arrival.  _WRONG!!_ A loud voice spoke up sending a chill down John's back and a pink flush to his cheeks. _D_ _amnit all to hell._ He'd been caught and, of course, off guard with no good reason, save for a bad morning, to back up his tardiness as excusable. "Mr. Watson, if you are serious about this job then perhaps instead of hiding in the back you can speak up and tell me exactly why it is you are late for your very first day of internship?" John froze. What could he say? That he had a crappy morning, that traffic was poor and he almost busted his knee attempting to find his slippers? No. He attempted the no nonsense approach, a promise of vindication. "First day jitters, Doctor. Won't happen again, you have my word." John spits out all in one breath surprising even himself. The Doctor was tall, dark haired and confident with a sort of edge that made John nervous. She smirks and shook her head slightly. "Let's hope not, Watson."

  "Alright well you all have your assignments and you know where you are going....Oh, John Watson, it looks like, in your lateness, you managed to miss the option to choose your patient. Let me do the honors for you, shall I?"  _Awe..Shit! This isn't going to be good._ She sorted through a number of folders on the desk in front of her. "Alright!! Here you go, room 221B in the rehab wing we have 18 year old Sherlock Holmes. Suffering from serious drug addiction and having a rather rude and unpleasant demeanor." The good doctor chuckles before continuing "Doesn't like people and has oftentimes attempted to bribe doctors for personal gain. Drug addictions include, but not limited to : Heroine, cocaine and tobacco." _N_ _ot really a drug, but not any less dangerous long term'_  John thinks to himself. "You'll do quite nicely with this charming young bloke. Here you go. Room 221B, I trust you can find your way there without any troubles?" She held her hand out for him to take the file.  _Doctor Irene Adler_ was written on her name tag. John made a mental note of this, took the folder and they were dismissed.

  John followed the posted signs for each location and eventually made his way to the rehab wing. "Perfect. Just bloody perfect." He muttered to nobody but himself. Rehab was the one wing he had hoped not to have his internship. He had witnessed enough turmoil with Harry on a daily basis at home he didn't need to go through it at work with someone he cared nothing about. He was kidding himself though, because he does care. John Watson's one weakness was his heart and he had always known that. John was pulled out of his own head when he heard the familiar sound of vomiting coming from a room two doors down. He started to run and stopped to look at the number on the door. 221B yep, he should have known this was his stop. "Well John, time to get to work. If you can make it through this, hell, you can do anything." He managed a short pep talk with himself before entering the room.

  He walked into the room to see, who was quite obviously, Sherlock Holmes attempting standing, although rather poorly, in the middle of the room looking quite out of it. He glanced down to see the sick everywhere but in the basket and shook his head. He had no time to ask because in the few seconds it took him to analyze the situation Sherlock's attempt at standing was failing horribly. He started to fall and John ran to him and caught him just in time before his head hit the floor. "Nurse...NURSE!! I need someone to help me clean this up." He juggled Sherlock in his arms while attempting to avoid walking in the sick that coated the better part of the floor. He helped the poor man into his bed but not before the nurses ran in to clear it off for him.  _Laundry,_ he thought, _was definitely added to the list of things to do._ "What a mess he made. I don't think this day can get any worse for either of us." He said to the man he was currently tucking into bed. John noticed his patients clothes were covered in sick and so he made quick work of removing them for him. He peeled off the shirt, with only slight annoyance from Sherlock, and removed his trousers.  _Thank God, he was wearing pants._ John thought to himself. He was training to be a doctor but that bit he did not need to deal with today.

  The nurses made quick work of the floor placing soiled laundry in the basket to be taken to the wash and cleaning up sick. They had replaced the waste basket in his room and left John to take care of Sherlock. Placing the blankets over him he decided to check his vitals. He placed his hand on Sherlock's head and felt his skin to be damp and cold. He had his other hand on the patients wrist taking his pulse. A little elevated but coming down now that he was allowing himself to sleep. He went to move his hand and he heard a low rumble from the man laying on the bed. John smiled to himself, the man was actually quite beautiful and why on earth would he do this to himself? He reached out his hand and placed it on top of those, now damp but still beautiful, curls. "You'll be alright. I'll take care of you, I promise." It might have been a trick of light, maybe his imagination or just that it had been a very long morning but John thought he saw a smile play on those full lips of Sherlock's. He shook his head and grabbed his chart. Marked down the details of the incident and closed the file. Taking one last look around he sighed and left the room returning only to place a glass of water on the night stand next to Sherlock's bed. He would probably sleep for the day but John would make regular checks to make sure his patient was okay.


	4. Call me, John. When We're Alone

**~Sherlock's POV~**

Sherlock wakes with such a pounding in his head but he feels surprisingly warm and comfortable. He doesn't remember falling asleep. He barely remembers being sick and falling....Falling? Right!...But he didn't hit the ground. He was caught, someone caught him and helped him into bed. He looked down and moved the blankets. Someone had stripped him too. Most likely because he was laying in sick before he had the idea of standing up. He remembered laying in bed and feeling those hands... _Oh, those hands!! So soft, so warm and gentle._ He had to find out who those hands belong to. He had to know who was so willing to pick him up whilst in such a disgusting state. He felt terrible, like someone had hit him with a truck. He moved to get up and immediately felt the cold air of the hospital. He needed to find a bathroom and have a shower. He had hoped to avoid actual conversation until after he was cleaned and feeling significantly more awake.

  He stood and glanced around, his room had been cleaned and there was a glass of water and two Advil on his table. He smiled knowing who had left them there for him. A strange feeling washed over him but he shook his head to rid himself of the thought. Whoever this person was, gentle or not, he was a Doctor and not a friend. Also, wasn't there a code or a law against such things? So Sherlock could not get involved and besides, he hadn't even really met him yet. For all Sherlock knew he could be the most annoying idiot in all of London. With that he took the Advil and downed the water setting out in search of the bathroom. He pulled on the robe which was sitting on the chair in the corner of his room before he stepped out into the hall and taking in everything he saw. There was a nurses station across the hall to the right and several other rooms, probably patient rooms, to the left. He seems to have the one furthest down the hall.

  He glances to one of the nurses and swallows hard. Sherlock, for all intents and purposes, hates asking for help of any kind. He walks over and says, to no one in particular "I need the bathroom. Where is it? Also, a shower if there is none in said bathroom." To his surprise she smiles openly and points in the direction of the shower room. "You'll find everything you need in there Mr. ...uhh....Holmes? Umm...But your laundry is not in your room. There was umm..." She paused, trying to think of how best to proceed without antagonizing or embarrassing him. "Well, it's being washed for you. It should be back soon. Dr. Watson will want to check on you so please don't be too long. Their are towels and soap in the shower room as well as shampoo. If you need anything just ask." She smiled and went back to her work. Sherlock turned on his heel heading into the shower. He expected to find other patients in here but surprised he was, at least for now, alone.

  He removed the robe and his pants adjusted the water to the perfect temperature. Slightly hotter than normal so he could maybe burn away the memory of those perfect hands on his body. Grabbing the shampoo he lathered up his curls and then grabbed the soap and got to work on his body. He started to feel better with every part of his body he cleaned. His chest and stomach were in the process of being cleaned when he started to remember that voice and the words they had said. Something about taking care of him and a promise? Sherlock's hand stopped moving and he closed his eyes, entering his Mind Palace. The one place he can hide when it all becomes too much for him. He started to catalogue how that voice had sounded. Smooth and gentle with a caring tone. Confident but with a touch of...nervousness? He remembered the doctor's hand in his hair and inhaled a deep breath as he brought to mind that exact feeling.

  Sherlock felt something stir inside him. He shouldn't be enjoying this at all. He should be concentrating on getting his next fix. Oddly enough, that was  the furthest thing from his mind at the moment and that shook Sherlock to his core. Drugs. It is what motivated him. So many idiots in the world and so much hate he had to deal with. The drugs understood him. The drugs helped him escape and feel good...or well, most of the time they helped him not to feel at all. Which was the goal wasn't it? If he couldn't feel anything he couldn't be hurt. Their words run through his head again, those imbeciles at the Yard calling him a freak and laughing in his face. He was still a teenage boy but so much smarter than most well educated adults were. It wasn't like he wanted to be different, in fact, he often wished he were the same as everyone else. Dull, boring and plain, because then maybe someone would want to spend more than 5 minutes in his company without insulting him. Usually leaving him standing there...alone, again and again. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind and finished showering quickly.

  Stepping out of the shower he put the robe back on, gathering his pants he headed back toward his room. Once inside he noticed his clothes were folded and neatly tucked into the drawers. He pulled out a long sleeve tee shirt, some clean pants and a pair of designer jeans to put on. He dressed quickly and ran a comb through his still wet curls. His fingers lingered in his hair a moment before he pulled his mind back to the present. He grabbed his tooth brush and paste and headed for the bathroom again.

  He opened the bedroom door to see a man, the doctor, standing on the other side. His hand was raised as if he was just about to knock and Sherlock froze. He didn't know what it was that caused him to stop but deduced it was partly the fact that this man was most definitely who those wonderful hands belonged to. He looked the doctor over once and thought through his deductions.  _Early twenties, intern, with a dependency on this job to finish med school to please his mother. Father is a deceased medical professor. Doctor J.H.Watson is written on his badge first name John or perhaps Jim? No, he doesn't look like a Jim at all. John then. How incredibly ordinary. H, though...That could be tricky, will have to find out. He lives alone but not by choice. Caring but firm and favors biting his lower lip when slightly uncomf...._ Sherlock realizes he has been staring at him for probably a good minute or so without speaking. The doctor clears his throat while Sherlock looks away surprisingly embarrassed, his cheeks tinting a pale pink. _  
_

"Oh. H-Hello. Good morning, uhh..My name is Doctor Watson and I will be taking care of you for the rest of your stay here." He smiled a bright open smile with his lips and his eyes. Those gorgeous green eyes seem to dance in the light. "I see you've showered and found your clothes alright. Is there anything you need before we get started?" Sherlock just stood there, barely breathing at the site of this man. Nothing spectacular about him but he couldn't seem to look him in the eyes. A problem he has never experienced before. He realized he was drooling slightly and his toothbrush was hanging out of his mouth. He removed it quickly and wiped his face with his sleeve. He cleared his throat and held his toothbrush up in an indication that he needed to clean his teeth. Secretly, he hoped, he would be able to get away without saying too much. Right now he couldn't trust his voice and his body was betraying him with a sudden rush of heat all over him. He smiled weakly and the doctor gave a small smile and a slight laugh and let him pass. "I will be right here when you come back. We can begin with getting to know each other better." Sherlock swallowed and rushed off to the bathroom. _What the hell just happened? Where is this coming from and who the hell gave him the right to look so bloody good!?_

  Sherlock slammed the tooth brush and paste down onto the sink. He gripped the perimeter of it and lowered his head. Trying to steady his breathing he noticed his heart pounding at an alarming rate but had no idea what was wrong. Should he call the doctor to check him?  _Don't be an idiot, Sherlock. He is the reason you are having this problem to begin with._ He had read articles about arousal and the chemical reactions of love and lust. Though, he has never given it much thought because he has never had anybody spark that kind of feeling in him before. Doctor Watson's voice and hands were enough to almost do him in and now he had to be beautiful too? Just what was he supposed to do now? He is supposed to go back there and talk to him about what? About how fucked up his life is? About how he feels nothing but pain and he uses the drugs as an escape from that? Does he tell him what he felt when the doctor put his hands on him? Spoke to him? Tell him that he heard the good doctor's promise to take care of him?  _Ugh, this is ludicrous. Absolutely ridiculous. He is just a man and he might be dull and boring and annoying and so I won't pay too much attention to this. I'll ignore this. It will stop eventually._ He brushes his teeth quickly and washes his face to try and rid himself of the blush. The cold water helps but he can still feel it there, below the surface just taunting him and waiting to reappear.

  Sherlock leaves the bathroom and heads, once again, for his bedroom. He feels his stomach rumble but ignores it. He stops just outside of the door and takes a deep breath and holds it. He realizes he is slightly excited from his earlier meeting with the doctor and he tried his best to walk normally. Exhaling slowly, he enters the room and Dr. Watson is sitting in the chair next to his bed reading over what Sherlock deduces is his file. Sherlock clears his throat and Dr. Watson looks up at him. "Ahh, Sherlock, why don't you have a seat?" He smiles that smile and Sherlock feels his knees go weak. He'll have to be closer but sitting is probably a much safer idea than standing at the moment. He walks slowly over towards the bed and sits, moving his hands from beside him on the bed to fiddling with the trim on the blanket. Frustrated at not knowing what to do with them he stops himself and just folds them, on his lap, in front of him.

  His stomach rumbles but he ignores it. Dr. Watson pulls his eyes away and glances at Sherlock's stomach. "Just a few questions and then we can take care of that." Sherlock's heart pounds faster and his eyes go wide as he stares at Dr. Watson. "What?!" The doctor smiles again and gestures towards Sherlock's stomach and says "It's been growling. Haven't eaten in a while have you?" Sherlock exhales the breath he didn't realize he was holding and feels relief wash over him. "Uhh....No, I mean...I don't....I can't....I got...s-sick." He could feel embarrassment and shame and he really just wanted to go back to sleep and not wake up. How was he to talk to Dr. Watson about everything that was wrong with him when he so desperately wanted to show him only the good things. He stifled a laugh. Does he have anything good to show him? He couldn't think of anything? Nothing....Not one bloody thing came to mind. He felt sick and afraid and sad and ashamed. It must have shown on his face because the next thing he knew the doctor had placed one hand over Sherlock's and his mind shifted.

  Everything else fell away and all that was left was Dr. Watson. Twenty something....Short, beautiful eyes, voice like liquid heat, warm, caring Dr. Watson. He inhaled and let out the breath and dared to meet the doctor's eyes. "Look, Sherlock, there is nothing to be ashamed of. I am not judging you and I won't hurt you. I am only here to help you recover from this. I understand you are probably nervous and I don't expect you to trust me right now but we don't have to get into anything too heavy right now. We've plenty of time for that. Alright?" Sherlock's mouth went dry and he licked his lips. He found himself calming and warming and even, God help him, smiling back at him. "Also, it's okay for you to call me John, when we are alone. Just make sure not to do it around the other staff, alright?" Sherlock nodded and he felt John squeeze his hand in reassurance. Suddenly he found himself both intrigued by and admiring John just with that one kind gesture.

  John, so simple, so plain and ordinary. Such a name belonged to someone who's heart was marginally smaller than this man's was. Such a name was more suited for someone boring and annoying. Someone who didn't spend their lives caring for fucked up addicts with a sketchy past. Someone who didn't make him smile and feel good in spite of himself. Which is exactly what he found himself doing when John looked up from his paperwork to meet his eyes. Sherlock answered his questions, just standard procedure type questions until he was asked about his addiction. He had heard John ask about his addiction but hadn't heard the exact question.

  "Sherlock? You still with me?" He shifted and smiled briefly. "Sorry, I...drifted off...Sorry...What was the question?" John repeated the question again so he could answer. "Says here that you've been treated before for these addictions. But you always seem to relapse or discharge before you've completely finished. Is there something they did that you didn't like or was there maybe another reason you left the facility?" Sherlock didn't know how to answer that. He knew nobody spoke to him the way this man had. Nobody seemed to understand the pain that withdrawal had caused him. His brain was most important, even when on the drugs it could still function well. He blinked and stuttered his answer "....I didn't...really, I didn't care for their treatment."

  John looked as if someone had punched him. He looked shocked and hurt at the same time. "Y-You...mean their treatments for the addiction, right?" Sherlock felt like an idiot. Of course he would let it slip, of course he couldn't keep his mouth shut and just lie his way through this. Too far gone to care now he blinked back the tears wanting to fall in his eyes and he choked on his words as they came "They...They were much....rougher, than you. I didn't...I was younger and I didn't really understand. I guess I did something wrong...Maybe I shouted too much or I did something wrong.....They just treated me....differently." He choked back another sob and his breathing increased as he tried to stay focused. John look horrified. He took Sherlock's hand again and squeezed, gently, and looked at the file in his hands and looked up again. "Look, we...umm...We don't have to talk about this right now if you don't want to." Sherlock shook his head. He felt oddly okay talking to John about this. He felt, unnaturally, safe with him....So he nodded for John to go on. "Okay, if it gets to be too much, just stop me. I don't mind talking it over another day."

"It...It says here you didn't get on well with the staff and refused to eat the food that was given. It says that your sheets had to be washed daily and you were constantly ill long after the withdrawal period should have ended." Sherlock couldn't breath.  _What happened to all the air in here, anyway?!_ He looked at John straight in the face and without hesitation he drew in a breath and spoke quickly and quietly. "They refused to turn the heat up in my room stating that I was delusional and the temperature was fine. So, I often slept in layers of clothes to keep myself warm while in bed but at some point in the night it became too much and I'd sweat and the sheets would get soiled. I always feel ill when I eat and I told them that my stomach could only handle certain amounts of certain foods. They looked at me like I was crazy, as most people do, and then threatened me with 24 hour supervision if I refused to eat....So I ate and became ill and then I got weak and I slept and it repeated itself until I got sick of it and checked myself out." John appeared sick now.  _God, what have I done? I've gone and repulsed him? How big of an idiot can I be? Good going, Sherlock! You really can't get anything right can you? Bloody moron._

  John cleared his throat again and took a deep breathe, exhaling slowly. He ran a hand through his short, blonde hair and looked Sherlock in the eyes and spoke. "Sherlock, I am so sorry that you were treated like that. Nobody deserves that kind of treatment. Again, I know you have no reason to trus..." "I do!" Sherlock cut him off and spoke before he could finish. "I do...trust you." John closed his eyes and sighed. He opened them and a small smile played at his lips before he continued. "Well, I am happy to hear that. I really, truly am. I can tell you that you will not be treated that way under my watch okay? Now, that being said, I do have to be firm with you in regards to eating. Though, I will get a list of the things you are comfortable with and we can start from there, sound fair?" A choice? The doctor was actually 'asking' him? It was a very fair choice and he knew he had, hell he wanted, to agree. "S-sound fair....But, Doc...er...John?" John looked at him openly "Yes, Sherlock?" Sherlock hesitated not really knowing why he said his name or what he planned to ask so he settled on something he'd been secretly pondering. "Why?...umm..that is...well, why did you choose to work in the rehab wing? I mean, clearly you are qualified to work anywhere else...somewhere, easier with...better patients."

  John looked nervous and a bit guilty? What could that mean? "Well, I guess....Luck has a lot to do with it. Honestly, we are given our positions for the internship and we don't really get much say. Although, to be honest I am glad I get to work here it means that I can help people on a much more personal level." Sherlock smiled and felt that warmth wash over him again. This time, he let it happen because he was finally around someone who not only caused it but seemed not to mind his sudden changes in emotions so much. Or if he did, he did well to hide that fact. He gave John a list of the foods he was comfortable eating, which wasn't much. He could tell by the way John looked at the list that he wasn't impressed but he managed it alright. John wrote a few things Sherlock couldn't read on the paper and closed the folder. "Well then, enough of the heavy, let's get you fed shall we?"

  Sherlock smiled and for the first time in a long time he thought  _Maybe I can do this. Maybe, with John, I might actually beat this addiction. I don't know why but I really don't want to disappoint him. Huh, Mycroft would be proud....I think._ He smiled as John got up and started to leave. He laid back in bed and started to close his eyes when he heard John's voice. "There is a dining room if you're interested or I can have them bring food to your room, if you like." He sat up slightly while he answered "If you wouldn't mind. I am still rather tired and I still feel rather ill and slightly dizzy." John nodded and left the room. Sherlock lay back in the bed and let himself drift off. He would eat when he woke but right now he needed to sleep. He noticed there was clean linen on his bed and the leather chair, John's chair, was still relatively close. He could smell John there, in that chair. He smelled of soap, shampoo and a scent that was all his own. Something earthy and intoxicating. This, Sherlock thought, could be his new addiction. A much more dangerous, terrifyingly new addiction. He had one thought before he let sleep take him... _John Watson, you could be the making of me....Or make me worse than ever._


	5. Out of the Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been changed as the previous scene involving the nurses had a lot of people upset. I do hope you like the rewrite as it makes more sense to the story line for me to write it this way. If you have any questions or concerns please feel free to leave a comment down below. I apologize to those of you who were upset and I hope this update makes you feel more at ease. Thank you for your concerns. Happy reading. :3

  John left Sherlock's room to put in his request for a lunch tray to be brought to 221B. The attendant at the kitchen gave him a look and he sighed. "I know, but he's ill and it's all he will eat. Well, maybe not, add some toast and a cup of tea on there as well. Maybe some fruit of some sort, an apple, perhaps. He can't survive on biscuits and soup alone." The young girl smiled and went to work straight away on making up Sherlock's plate. John placed the paper with his room number and name on the tray and left the kitchen. With Sherlock's file in hand he decided it was a good time, while his patient was resting, to add some notes of his own to the man's file. He entered his office and sat the file on his desk. He opened up the associated file on the computer and started typing, then stopped. Just what exactly does he say? He hasn't spent much time with this particular patient and yet....He feels as though he knows him better in the half hour they spent talking than the many months his other doctor's spent attempting to cure him. If that's what you would even call such disgusting behavior. Then it hit him, exactly what he should say and he began to type.

 

**Dr. Watson St. Bart's Hospital,**

_Sherlock has shown definite signs of withdrawal from both cocaine and heroine_  
 _addiction._

_Severe vomiting and dizziness as well as fever and cold sweats. Only medication_  
 _he was given were 2 Advil 400's for the headache he suffered once he woke from_  
 _his sleep. -- Sherlock sleeps quite frequently._

_Sherlock has a very limited diet; crackers, biscuits and soup. (Not nearly enough_  
 _to survive on and all the makings of a poor immune system and iron deficiency.)_  
 _Will add more to this later as I am attempting to add more sustainable foods to_  
 _his diet so as not to starve him, while being careful of his stomach and esophagus_  
 _since he will most likely remain within the withdrawal period for quite some_  
 _time yet_

_Sherlock is nervous and fears is wary of doctors and treatment due to past_  
 _traumatic experiences whilst in the care of other clinics. This may have lead to_  
 _his anti-social personality disorder....I am not certain this is the correct_  
 _diagnosis...Sherlock seems to be a bit lost in social situations but nothing about_  
 _the patient seems to say 'Sociopath' at all. Will continue to look into this as his_  
 _treatment progresses._

  He saved the document and printed it out to add to Sherlock's file. Once finished he had moved to make a call to the kitchen to make sure his patients food had been brought up when he heard the commotion outside and then he heard it. "Paging Dr. Watson! Paging Dr. Watson!! Dr. Watson to room 221B!!" He gasped and ran out of the room to see what was wrong. He could hear frightened pleading, (Sherlock?) He ran into the room to see a very confusing sight. The nurses were gathered round Sherlock's bed and from what it looked like they were attempting to wake Sherlock who appeared frightened and half out of his mind with panic, was screaming and thrashing around. "What's happening here? What's going on??" As soon as John spoke Sherlock's eyes flew open to meet John's. He looked completely lost, confused and scared. The nurses attempted to calm him but he seemed to be far too embarrassed to accept their help. John opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock spoke first. "Dr. Watson! Please!! No! NO!! It' s a dream...it was just a dream. I'm sorry, please!! Please make it stop. Please!!" John ran over to him and the nurses moved to allow him through to his patient. "Alright, I can handle him from here. Thank you for your help. I appreciate you calling me right away." John turned to Sherlock as one of the nurses spoke up "He was screaming for help, we ran in to see what was wrong and he was in a state of panic. We tried to wake him, to calm him and help him but he seemed far too frightened to let us help. I'm sorry, Dr. Watson." John nodded in understanding and replied gently. "Thank you, nurse Morstan. I think he is still a bit shaken from the dream. I'll make sure he is alright. I appreciate the help. You may go." She looked at the other two nurses and gestured for them to leave as well. Sherlock was trembling with terror and confusion and begging John with his eyes not to leave him alone. Nurse Morstan walked away but not before she paused and turned to Sherlock and said "Don't worry, love, I have nightmares too. They're terribly dreadful but absolutely no reason to be afraid. We'll take good care of you here." With a smile and a wink she left the two men alone.

  John turned to Sherlock who was calming but still very upset and still very shaken. "God, Sherlock, are you okay? Does this happen a lot? The nightmares, I mean, are they frequent? I didn't know...I mean, they said nothing in your file and if I had known I could have done something. Please, are you okay?" Sherlock just stared and blinked back at him. John realized Sherlock was squeezing his hand tight enough for his knuckles to go white and his hand to become numb. He placed his hand on top of Sherlock's and stroked it gently. "You're okay, Sherlock. I'm here with you. I'll stay as long as you like. It's over now though, you're awake and you're alright." Sherlock let out a breath he was holding and a sob and started shaking violently. His hand still gripping John's as if his life depended on it. Hell, maybe it did. "Sher...Oh God. Sherlock it's okay. It's fine...I'm here now...I'm here." Sherlock sat there allowing the good doctor to comfort him. John sighed heavily and shook his head at Sherlock's pale skin and cold clammy hands.  _Malnourished, insomnia, terrible nightmares when he does sleep and he won't accept help from anyone else but me. This poor man has been through hell and back. I just hope I can help him through the darkness this time._

  John took his free hand and checked his vitals. Heart rate extremely high, no wonder, John thought. No fever, which is a good sign but as he took a look at the rest of him he realized something and became even more appalled at the situation. "Sherlock, I am going to need you to calm down. We are going to do some breathing exercises to get your heart rate under control. Can you do that for me?" Sherlock was breathing far to quickly and his pulse was racing but he nodded for John to go on. "Okay, we are going to breathe in and hold it for 5 seconds and then when I say so, you release. Do it slowly alright?" Sherlock nodded. Alright, now Sherlock. Breathe in." Sherlock inhaled sharply. "That's right. Now hold it for 5...4...3...2...1. And release, Sherlock. Remember slowly." Sherlock released the breath slowly and started to loosen his grip on the John's hand. "Alright a few more time's. Come on, Sherlock, inhale." Sherlock did as he was asked. "5...4...3...2...1. Exhale, slow. Good job!" Sherlock was starting to calm already it seemed. "Alright once more now. You got this. Inhale. 5...4...3...2...1...." Sherlock exhaled on his own, slowly and released his grip on John's hand. "There now. Isn't that better?" Sherlock nodded and, although still frightened, he gave John a partial smile. "Now, let me take care of a couple things and we can talk about what happened, alright?" Sherlock nodded and laid back in the bed.

  John gathered the sheets that had fallen to the floor in all the panic and the blanket and threw them in the clothes hamper outside. He walked over to the nurses station and requested fresh linens for Sherlock's bed. He had taken another chair from an unused room and placed in Sherlock's so he could sit without having to deal with the cold, empty bed. John motioned for Sherlock to get up and sit in the leather chair. He sat but dragged his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around himself defensively. John spoke first. "Sherlock, I know you have been through a lot. Nightmares can be absolutely terrifying and sometimes even crippling depending on the subject matter. While I can't guarantee that they will never happen again or that I will be here beside you when they do, I can tell you that the staff here, especially nurse Morstan, are lovely and experienced and they only mean to help you. So if I cannot be here immediately and they come in you have to let them help you. It is their job and they can do a lot to calm you down while you wait fr me to arrive which could be beneficial to both of us. Do you understand?" Sherlock peeked at the doctor through this black lashes and nodded his understanding. Sherlock swallowed and bit his lip. He looked...what? John tried to read his patients face but he didn't like what he was seeing. Was he feeling guilty? Sort of but there was something else...Oh! Shame? Why would he feel shame? Panic, yes. Fear? Absolutely! There was nothing for him to feel ashamed of though. He needed to find out what this young man's nightmares were consisting of before he could move on with helping him. He would find out first from Sherlock and then he had to speak to nurse Morstan to find out if Sherlock had said anything that might be helpful in figuring out why exactly he didn't want them helping him.

  Sherlock sat in the chair, head down and voice barely above a whisper but he finally opened up. "I...had a...a nightmare. I guess I....was I too loud?" Asking? Why was he asking? "Do you want to talk about what exactly it was you were dreaming about? Did you tell them about your nightmare?" Sherlock shook his head frantically. "No...I mean, I don't know. Maybe. I was dreaming...it happens a lot only this was different and I remember feeling afraid." Sherlock looked panicked now. "I tried to run or to move but something was holding me back. I kept screaming and screaming but I couldn't move forward I felt something sharp and that's when I woke and everyone was there. They were there. Everywhere. I just wanted to be left alone...I wanted...but they...John where were you?! I needed you and you weren't there!! Where were you?!" John didn't know what came over him but at that moment he didn't care he jumped out of his seat and went to Sherlock, grabbing him into a hug. Sherlock clung to him like static on a blanket. Fingernails digging into his shoulder and tears soaking his scrubs. John did not care. This man was seconds away from having a panic attack because John wasn't there when he woke up. Sherlock, although a young man in body, was very much like a child waking from a dream and finding his parents were nowhere to be seen. Afraid, alone and terrified. John felt sadness for the man in his arms. He felt a sense of deep responsibility and dependability towards Sherlock. He really was glad he got this job. He was also really glad that he could be the one to help this poor man. He was determined to succeed where so many others had failed.

  Sherlock sobbed for a good five minutes while John rubbed his hands along his back and coaxed him into calming himself down. "Remember to breathe, Sherlock. That's good, like we practiced. Good. Can you slow your breathing for me? Okay, perfect. Good." Sherlock was still crying a bit and looked a total mess but at least he was under control of his breathing and better able to speak. John let him go and sat back on his feet. "Are you okay now?" Sherlock nodded and flushed a deep red and tried to find a way to hide his face. John was holding his hands and he just looked up at Sherlock and shook his head gently. "This is going to be a tough ride for both of us, I think." Sherlock continued to breathe as John taught him and he glanced towards the bed. "It's okay, I have fresh sheets being brought up for you okay?" He nodded and even smiled at John. One John swiftly returned and found himself stroking Sherlock's hands with his thumbs. Just little circles on the pad of flesh between his thumb an pointer fingers. It was calming, for both of them. Sherlock met his eyes and they shared a look of both understanding and....something else. It was something John didn't, couldn't, think about, couldn't even consider. In different circumstances, hell, maybe, he doesn't see why not but Sherlock needed treatment right now. He needed help and if John had any chance of continuing on as the only doctor capable of helping him then he needed to push these unexpected feelings aside and concentrate solely on being a good doctor, for Sherlock. He cleared his throat and looked away then letting Sherlock's hands go and he moved to sit in his chair. That was when the knock came. "That'll be your fresh linens. Let me get them for you."

John helped the nurse remake Sherlock's bed and when he bid good afternoon to her he turned to see Sherlock's food wasn't even touched. He opened his mouth to say something but Sherlock interrupted him. "I...I was going to but...well." He glanced to the bed and then lowered his head. "Hey, hey....It's alright. I will have them bring some fresh food for you and I will take my lunch and we'll eat together okay? Would you be okay with that?" Sherlock actually smiled a decent smile and sat back on his bed. John headed towards the door so he could head to the kitchen to put in another order when Sherlock spoke again. "Thank you, John, for...taking care of me." John felt...Well, he had no idea how he felt. A mixture of emotions and he couldn't pinpoint just one. Appalled at what happened to him in the past. Guilty because he had promised to take care of Sherlock and he wasn't there when he woke up. Alarmed at the amount of affection he had for this young man but most of all he felt pride for the immense amount of strength and determination this man has shown. Even after everything that had happened Sherlock was still able to appreciate and trust that John was different than the others. He trusted that John wanted to help him and that sent a flutter through John's heart and he even felt himself blush a bit as he smiled at his patient. "You're welcome, Sherlock. I'll be right back, okay?" Sherlock nodded and stretched out in the clean linens, smiling. John left the room and finally let himself feel the unmentionable feeling that was pooling in his stomach. He need to find out why there was no mention of this in Sherlock's file. Someone had a lot of explaining to do including past doctors and psychiatrists. All John had was one thought in his head...and that was _Anti-_ _social personality disorder my ass!!_


	6. A Chemical Defect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this while in hospital today. 3 and a half hours typing this up in notepad on my ancient LG Eclypse smart phone. Then I had to retype, edit, spell check and then preview and post it here. All in all this chapter took me a whopping 5 and 1/2 hours. I hope you like it. Haha!!
> 
> Also, the format is a bit different from the others. I will be updating the layout of them as well. Since I like this better. Much easier to read. Thank you, Alfuso, for your helpful pointers. We may not have agreed one some things, at first, but as usual I come around to see your side. So, thank you to. I hope you like this one as well. :3

  Sherlock lay in bed waiting for John to return. Feeling a bit overwhelmed from earlier events but surprisingly comforted by the doctors unexpected kindness towards him. He didn't want to think too much about the dream or how frightened he had become when he had woken up surrounded by nurses. John's arms though!  _God, he'd hugged me, hadn't he?_ Sherlock was smiling, actually smiling and he had no idea why. Well, he knew exactly why he just refused to accept the truth. Still though, he understood that if he was to make this work for himself he was to put forth a little effort on his part as well. This included allowing the nurses to care for and help him just as he had been allowing Dr. Watson to care for him.

  "Ahh, Sherlock, here you are." He looked up to see housekeeping laying out his new tray of food for him. "Where's Joh....er...Doctor Watson?" He asked hoping she hadn't noticed his slip up. "He said to tell you he would be along in a few minutes." Smiling she left, closing the door behind her.

  Sherlock had sat in the chair John had brought in for him earlier. He didn't want to start eating until John joined him so he decided to try relaxing for a bit. He was feeling oddly anxious and a bit nervous about his first shared meal with the doctor. It was just a meal after all and he was looking forward to it, although, the waiting had become a bit boring now. How long had it been anyway? He was starting to wonder if John had either forgotten about him or perhaps changed his mind. He hates waiting for others mostly because it gave him too much time to think and an overactive brain and boredom made for a very unpleasant time. He thought about his day, he thought about why he was here.  _stupid Mycroft and his not-so-brilliant ideas._ No! He definitely didn't want to think about his brother. In fact, Mycroft was the last thing Sherlock wanted to occupy his mind at the moment.

  He also didn't want to think about the drugs. Yet, there they were, the excuse Mycroft used to get him here. Plain as the nose on his face. They couldn't be all bad though, they had, in fact, brought him to John. Still though, it's not like he really had a problem with drugs. He really only indulged when he was extremely bored and there was nothing else available to occupy his mind. When nothing else seemed to work, to shut his mind off or to distract him from the mundane and blinding amount of stupid that constantly seemed to surround him, the drugs were always there. The drugs helped, they understood him, never let him down. Sure he did some rather unpleasant things while on the drugs, like getting into fights with strangers at the bar or attempting to pick up girls for a quick shag that would pose as a temporary distraction.

  If was being honest with himself, he hadn't even really known why he'd bothered. Girls weren't even his area. It was what people did though, wasn't it? That was the whole 'upside' to being a man. Find a willing woman, have a shag, maybe a coffee in the morning then gone by lunch time. Though, to be fair, he never actually made it quite that far with one yet. For that he was, secretly, thankful. He hadn't really wanted to he was trying to fit in...somewhere. Trying to be normal. Try as he might though, Sherlock realized that avenue was better left undiscovered, for now. Truth be told though the only time he felt somewhat normal was when he was high and everyone else didn't seem quite so hateful or annoying.

  He wondered how long he could manage without the drugs. He also wondered if it was, at all, possible for him to somehow feel that way without drugs. He would need to find another fix though. A replacement for the drugs. Something else to better distract his mind. Something Mycroft wouldn't find out about or at least, wouldn't ship him away for. He'd need a healthy distraction, if there was such a thing. Something to stimulate both his mind and his body when he was overwhelmingly bored or feeling particularly low. He'd need....

  *Knock knock* "Sherlock? It's Dr. Watson. May I come in?" Sherlock jumped at the sound of John's voice. Laughing to himself he'd immediately thought _Oh, you could be exactly what I need!! Charismatic, beautiful, dangerous and completely off limits. The perfect distraction._ Clearing his throat he answered "Yes, it's open, come in, Dr. Watson."

  Smiling, John entered the room, lunch in hand, and sat across from Sherlock. "Apologies for taking so long. I was intercepted by a chatty colleague and couldn't get away." Sherlock smiled and reached for his tray. Looking at John now, he wanted to speak, to start the conversation, he wanted to say...something. He had no idea how to start casual conversation though. Most of his conversations started with a deduction and ended with someone telling him to either piss off or to make use of a very private part of his anatomy in a way that he was quite certain was biologically impossible. He had many failed attempts at starting the conversation which ended with him snapping his mouth closed and peering down at his tray. Feeling quite inadequate and, for the first time in a while, quite unsure of himself.

  Thankfully, John had picked this exact moment to start talking. "So how are you feeling now that you have had some time to come down from the dream?" Sherlock sighed a bit "Fine...Ahem...Good, yeah. Good. I was just, uhh, thinking, a bit, you know...while I was waiting for you." Smiling shyly at the doctor he could feel himself blushing. He attempted to look away, playing with his food as a distraction. "Oh? What were you thinking about? Anything I should know?" Sherlock could have kicked himself for opening his big mouth. "Erm...No. I mean, I was just thinking about what it was like at home and how my brother checked me in here without my consent and well, also, about y-you."

  John looked surprised. Although, he shouldn't be. He had to know how much influence he'd had on Sherlock and how much he trusted the good doctor. Still though, he had to admit, that surprised and somewhat shy, for a doctor, sweet, blush John wore on his face suited him quite well. Wait, was he really blushing? Why? Had he enjoyed the fact that Sherlock was thinking about him? Had he been thinking about Sherlock outside of the whole doctor-patient mindset? Sherlock had found himself speechless. He had thought this...attraction or whatever it was had been completely one sided. Of course, he had missed all the signs. They were there though, staring him in the face when he wasn't even looking, when he was too distracted to notice. Elevated heart rate when they were in close proximity, especially during their unexpected hug earlier. Increased body heat and flushed cheeks even in the cool hospital air. Even the constant unnecessary touching should have been a big red flag of warning for him. Yet Sherlock had noticed none of it, until now.

  He should be appalled at this, he should turn away or call him an idiot for showing such emotion so easily and for being so painfully obvious. Yet he just couldn't bring himself to do it, he allowed it. He would even go so far as to say he welcomed it, maybe even wanted it, because with John, it was different. John, was different. Different from all of the other idiots who constantly brought him down. John didn't call him a freak, or tell him off on a daily basis. John didn't roll his eyes when he came round or tell him to piss off whenever he'd opened his mouth. John accepted him as he was, protected him and cared for him. Yes, John, was different. Just what made him different he wasn't sure. Why was he so different from everybody else. What made him listen and want to help Sherlock instead of just popping him some meds and being done with it? Was he really that special?

  John cleared his throat as if he'd wanted to say something then Sherlock realized he'd been staring at him, for who knows how long. Damnit! Sometimes his overactive brain really annoyed him and right now it had been getting in the way of his conversation with John. _Ugh, pay attention Sherlock, don't be an idiot._

"So, why exactly, were you thinking about me?" John had asked, sipping his still too hot coffee and gazing at Sherlock from his over sized coffee cup. "Oh, I was just...surprised at how patient you are. Most doctors lose patience quite quickly when it comes to me. You seem to be more invested than I expected. It's just....new, to me, that's all."

 _Liar!!_ Well, he had only been half lying. Most of that was the truth but there was so much more to it than just that, though he was going to tell John that. He would think him insane, surely. It had nothing to do with how adorable John was or how warm he is or how his voice alone could seem to calm Sherlock from even his most hysterical moods. Ugh, what is this frustration? He wanted to pull his hair out, or hit someone or...or...grab some....one? John! He wanted to grab John, to pull his hair, to make him scream the way John made him want to scream in frustration and obsession and satisfaction. Christ! What was wrong with him? He'd never felt this way about anyone before and leave it to him to finally have those feelings towards someone who was, for all intents and purposes, completely off limits. He felt his temperature rise and who turned up the heat in here anyway? Damnit! He was staring again. Fuck!! The poor doctor was going to be off running feeling completely awkward and John would be the next one calling him a freak if he kept this up.

  Lowering his eyes he blushed, again and took a drink of his juice. He managed a peek at the good doctor who, surprisingly enough, was smiling back at him. Not the awkward, repulsed 'how do I get out of here?' smile either. It was an honest, open and genuinely caring smile. Sherlock would never admit it, not even to himself, but it melted him. Sherlock smiled back, shyly, and picked at his food. Maybe he wouldn't run screaming after all. Not yet, anyway.

  John spoke, pulling him out of his head again. "Sherlock, I wanted to talk to you about something that was written in your file. Now, you don't have to respond right now. You can take some time to think about it, if you like, and we can discuss it later." Looking up at John, he'd felt slightly nervous and a bit panicked. "Alright...What is it you want to know?" John cleared his throat and drank a mouthful of his water before speaking again. "Well, it mentions that, in the past, you had a few sessions with a psychiatrist and that you were diagnosed with Anti-Social Personality Disorder. "

  Sherlock felt sick just then and wanted to hide. Of course, he knew he would have to talk about this sooner or later but he hadn't really been thinking about it and wasn't prepared. Truthfully, he hadn't really wanted to talk about it with John at all. He was hoping they would have left that little bit of history out of his medical chart, though, he knew they wouldn't and he knew the doctor would see it eventually. He sighed heavily and nodded his head before he began to speak.

  "A few years ago now, yes. Though, I don't like therapists, I never have. Then again, I don't like most people, honestly, they bore me. Their problems bore me and their constant need for approval is dull and quite frankly, annoying. So, yeah. Hmph. There you have it. Sociopath."  John stared at him, a look of disbelief and concern apparent on his beautiful face. "Yeah...except, I don't think so." Sherlock blinked back at him a feeling of shock overwhelming him. "You...don't...think so." John smirked back at him. "Nope. Not for one second. Not since the day I met you and especially not after our conversation earlier."

  Sherlock was speechless. He hadn't expected this and he had no idea what to say. The facts were just that, facts. He had been diagnosed several years ago and it has been his mindset for practically his entire life. It kept people away and it had kept those, who wanted to, from getting too close. Nobody wanted to be with a Sociopath for fear of what might happen but Sherlock preferred it that way. This though, this doubt and John's denial of the cold hard truth was new and unexpected, it was almost appalling. Other doctor's accepted his diagnosis and had never even thought to question it.

  "Why do you doubt what is right in front of your eyes Dr. Watson?" John grinned at him this time, his eyes dancing with confidence. "Your reactions to my care have proven otherwise. You aren't cold and disconnected as a true Sociopath would be. You enjoy physical intimacy and having somebody care for you it just has to be someone you feel you can really trust. Though, why you chose to trust me, and so quickly, I don't know, but I like that you do and that you are allowing me to help you. I want to help you get better Sherlock. Honesty comes first though, because if we can't be honest with each other then what's the point right?"

  Sherlock was momentarily stunned in silence, shaken to his core and stripped of all of the walls he had spent so many years building up. He opened his mouth to speak but he found he had no words. Damn him, because he knew the doctors words made sense but he couldn't bring himself to admit it. What should he do? He wanted to keep Dr. Watson as his caretaker but he had boundaries for a reason and then in came John and he'd ripped them all down like he had every right to. Hell, maybe he had....No! This was wrong. This couldn't be allowed to happen, to continue. He couldn't let it happen. Ugh, this is why he relied on the drugs. They didn't analyze his mental state, didn't call his bluff or grin at him with charm and affection. Damnit!! No...no, this couldn't be allowed to continue. He had to end this...whatever 'this' was.

  Sherlock hid his emotions then and became his usual cold and distant self. "I'm done. I think I want to go to sleep now. You can show yourself out now. Good afternoon, Dr. Watson." John froze, seeming unsure of what to do. He looked at Sherlock stunned and a bit hurt. "I said leave!! Are you an idiot as well as completely ignorant?" John appeared as though he stopped breathing.

  Sherlock slammed his food tray down on the side table and turned away from him. Rising slowly John opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock, in a surprisingly quiet and calm voice, cut him off. "I don't care. Just go. Please?"

  He remained standing, his back to the doctor, until he heard the door close behind him. Letting out a deep breath he allowed himself to relax, as much as was currently possible, and sat on the bed. Running a hand through his hair he allowed himself one final thought before sleep.  _Caring is not an advantage._


	7. "This Petty Feud Is Simply Childish. People Will Suffer."

  John manages a deep breath after closing the door to room 221b. Sherlock's harsh words affecting him more than he cared to admit. He could feel the tension roll through his body and his disgust with himself for failing at his attempt at entering Sherlock's head. With frustration and anger swiftly coursing through his veins he actually felt personally attacked. He had really thought he was getting somewhere with the infuriating young man, thought, no, he was gaining Sherlock's trust. He would even go so far as to say he'd almost completely had it until he took that final step. He'd gone too far, too fast and he knew it. Still though, frustration still running hot in his blood and he really hated leaving him like that. What he wanted was to run back in there, demand Sherlock listen to him, demand he stop his pettiness. He wanted to shake the boy and make him understand. He knew this would only upset both of them and would do nothing to aid the situation. Instead, John decided to return to his office, sitting at his desk he began entering some quick notes in Sherlock's file.

 

**Dr. Watson, St. Bart's Hospital**

 

_Sherlock has been reacting well to positive reinforcement. He still has a lot of trust issues but overall he has been a most satisfactory patient._

_Sherlock has been accepting of food and has expressed both acceptance and satisfaction in regards to my medical care. As previously noted his appetite is still small and his diet even more so. He is still very underweight and refuses to eat anything of real substance. Will continue to add to his menu to improve both his health and his weight. -- More notes to come in regards to diet._

_Further research into Sherlock's diagnosis of Anti-Social Personality Disorder is currently underway. However, Sherlock despises any discussion on the matter and, it seems, treats this diagnosis as a sort of security blanket. No doubt this act is one of necessity and protection. A way for him to isolate himself from others and a means of protecting an already fragile heart. _Recent activity has lead me to believe that ASPD is not the correct diagnosis for this young man, further investigation is required, however, a conversation, regarding this, has taken place but was not, at all, successful. In any regard it seems when I challenged this particular diagnosis he became instantly upset guarded and closed off. He displayed signs of emotional pain, disturbance and even shyness. Most definitely not symptoms of a Sociopath. -- Further investigation and inquiries are to be conducted, however, I feel it best to let this issue rest, for the moment.__

_**Take note :** Sherlock seems to have a very low self esteem and this could be due to, or, more likely, a reason for him to turn to drug abuse. Addiction was not the plan but it seems to have provided him a wall, of sorts, that he could manage and maintain without the added stress of his conscience bleeding through. I will continue to monitor his actions and reactions, much more closely. I fear a relapse and will be keeping a watchful eye over the next few hours, days and weeks. I will be documenting any and all progress regularly._

  John finishes typing and sits back in his seat. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes he tries to sort through the mess of the conversation that happened only moments ago. he knew that whenever an addict patient was feeling emotional in most any way that it was almost always danger time for them. He sighed, sorting through Sherlock's personal records for a Next of Kin name. He finds a number and jots it down for emergency use. Having someone to call might better help him understand the boy's behavioral patterns and habits. Tucking the number inside the folder on his clip board he stands to walk out of the office. Just then his phone rings on the desk.

  John answers immediately "St. Bart's Hospital, Dr. Watson speaking." He pauses and then he hears it. The voice seems so familiar and yet different somehow. "Good afternoon, Dr. Watson. Having a rough day, are we?" John begins turning his head to look around the room, as if someone was watching him. "Er...W-who is this, exactly?" The voice chuckled and finally started making sense. "My name is Mycroft Holmes. I am Sherlock's older brother and his next of kin as you know from the information you just wrote down and placed into my brother's folder."

  Seriously, what was with this man? Does he have cameras on me? John thought to himself. "Look, I am a very busy man. I have a country to run after all. I just phoned to tell you that Sherlock can be....difficult...whenever he is approached about his mental instability. We believe this is why he turned to drugs in the first place and it is why we are paying you good money to take care of him. So please, do yourself a favor and try and concentrate on my brother's physical health instead of probing him with questions on his mental well being. I assure you that your doctorate does not cover any kind of psychological or behavioral studies, now does it, Dr. Watson?"

  John felt, for the second time that day, like someone had punched him and he had just about enough of it. He may not be a therapist but he knows a bogus call when he see's one. Taking a deep breath, as silently as he could, exhaling he loosens his right hand which he hadn't realized he was holding in a tight fist. He straightens his entire body, as if facing some ghost of a challenger. This challenger was very real, although John could not see him, he knew he was the type of man nobody even tried to challenge. John wasn't just anybody though, he was his father's son and he backed down, nor did he cower, to anyone. So he angled his chin up, gathered his courage and spoke.

  "Listen, I know you care about your brother and you wish him well." John's voice was demanding of attention without being rude or crass. He could hear Mycroft's smirk on the other end of the phone, John kept talking. "Let me tell you something about Sherlock that you may not understand. That boy is determined and so very strong, yet to most unobservant, untrained eyes, he appears fragile, weak and ready to break."

  Mycroft was making a sound that was a cross between a chuckle and a snort. Most likely in disbelief that anyone could read his little brother the way that he, assumed, he could. John raised an unseen eyebrow at the caller and fell silent, waiting. When the phone was once again quiet he decided to continue to scoling the caller.

  "My point is Sherlock  _wants_ to be here. He will never admit it, he will never show it and he will never, for one second, let anybody know that this is important to him. Why do you think that is?" Mycroft remains silent but John could hear him shifting uncomfortably through the phone.  John continued his verbal tongue lashing of the elder Holmes brother.

  "This has nothing to do with him having any kind of mental disorder. This, big brother, is a defense mechanism that Sherlock has employed to evade any feelings of hurt, pain or loss if something were to go wrong." John could hear Mycroft seething on the other end of the phone, still he said nothing, so John continued. "If this treatment" my treatment he wanted to say, but didn't. "doesn't work. If I give up on Sherlock, the way he expects me to, then he won't have to handle the sadness, the pain, from both himself and others, when they realize that he actually cared and has been let down, has been hurt. Because, to all who know him, Sherlock doesn't _feel_."

  Mycroft, continuing his silence, said nothing and so John ends the call the only way he knew how. He is, above all else, a doctor and a professional. When he realizes that the man was not going to fight him, at least not verbally at that time, he said his peace and then hung up the phone with a calmness he certainly did not feel.

  "Look, I understand you think you know all there is to know about Sherlock. I assure you, that underneath the pills, the needles and all of the self loathing he really is a normal, struggling, terrified young man. He yearns for the care of others and he truly does wish to be free of any and all judgement. This includes the misdiagnosis of being a Sociopath. Which I, with all of my non-psychology based Doctorate,can tell you is absolutely false and is being used as a weapon. This weapon, however, is being used both by him and against him. People are cruel, Mycroft Holmes, especially to people who are different. So why, as his, I'm assuming, care taker, would you want to make that any worse on Sherlock than it already is? Could you not tell he wasn't sick? He was lonely, he was frightened and he was a young boy who's only desire was to fit in....somewhere." John was asking but not expecting a response.

  Mycroft, remaining quiet, shifted ever so slightly in his chair. John holds his ground as if the neglectful older brother is in the same room, standing in front of him, attempting to look frightening. John has a point to make and, by God, he is going to make it regardless if the elder Holmes brother likes it or not.

  "The where didn't matter so much as the loyalty of those around him. I am willing to bet if I got him to talk no therapist in London, no, scratch that, in the world, would ever deem him unfit. So why, would you allow this to become permanent? Why did you not do something when this diagnosis was put upon him?....Oh...Oh! I see."

  John felt ill at his realization. Mycroft, remaining silent, had realized too late that he should have stopped the doctor before his brain worked out what was happening. John was red hot on his tail and Mycroft was starting to burn.

  "You want him to be sick. You want him sick because how else will you explain your brother? Explain away his behavior, explain that he is just a bit odd, a bit uncharacteristically different and that he just genuinely doesn't trust most people. How then, will you explain, that he has the brain of a philosopher or a genius scientist and yet takes more interest in Human Biology and Chemistry? How will you explain that the drugs are a result of neglect? Another coping mechanism. For Sherlock, this is an urgent need to reach out, no matter what the cost, to someone, anyone, for attention, for help, for a simple hand to hold while he struggles through life."

  John pauses wondering if he'd gone too far. He was beginning to care quite deeply about the young Holmes boy and he was really starting to understand more of why Sherlock acted the way he did towards John. The anger he displayed today was just a young man crying for help. He is displaying anger and disgust on the outside while silently begging for John to not give up on him. John, the only person to ever display any kind of attention and affection towards him, was the person Sherlock chose to trust. Quickly, yes, but not without doubts, bias and expectation of being let down. Still though, Sherlock is displaying trust and beginning to open up for the doctor. John is not about to fail him, not now. Mycroft opens his mouth to speak but John speaks first.

  "He is struggling alone and he needs someone he can trust and rely on to be there for him. And Mycroft, that someone should be you. Instead he is in a hospital bed, silently screaming out for help but too terrified of rejection to willingly accept it without some sort of reluctance or fear of retaliation. He is terrified to accept anyone's help because he fears rejection, judgement and alienation. This is evident in his actions and this fear is dripping out of every words he speaks"

  John wants to tell Mycroft about what had happened earlier. He wants to tell him that they shared so much more than a doctor-to-patient bond. He wants to tell him that Sherlock means more to him than just a paycheck at the end of the week. He wants to tell him that Sherlock accepted his affection and that he made the young man smile. He wants, so badly, to prove to Mycroft that this man is capable of both feeling and displaying true affection. John doesn't. Instead, John takes a deep breath and continues his diagnosis of the situation at hand. Whether Mycroft likes it or not he is getting an earful and John Watson is not holding anything back.

  "So please, be careful when you tell me I am not well educated. Be careful when you tell me I know nothing of matters of the brain or the heart because I can tell you now, I am well experienced in both matters and I take my job very seriously. Every experience is a chance to learn and grow and every failure gives us the chance to do it better the next time. The only trouble is, Sherlock may not have a next time. If he leaves here and treatment hasn't worked, I fear the worst for your brother. Not all doctors are this determined to help a patient. Not all doctors care to the extent that I care. Not all doctors are me. So if you've nothing positive to say I suggest you do the smart thing and end this call so I can see to Sherlock. It's been far too long and I have wasted precious time on the phone with you when I could be spending it caring for the younger man across the hall. I hope you understand that the doctor/patient confidentiality agreement will not allow, even you, to go snooping around so while you may have cameras watching this place, know this. I can have this room debugged and Sherlock's guarded faster than you can say 'Vatican Cameos.' So don't waste your breath threatening me. Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes"

  With that John promptly ends the call and takes in a deep breath. He has never felt more brave, more alive and more proud of himself than he does at this very moment. If luck was on his side, and if Mycroft was smart, he would heed John's words. If not, John might have one hell of a court case to fight but fight it he will. He pushes the thought out of his head and heads out of his office across the hall to room 221b. John pushes all of those negative thoughts out of his head. An apology had to be made and a certain patient needed caring for and regardless of Sherlock's reaction John only planned to get closer and help the terrified young man feel there really was someone out there who truly cared for him. Perhaps it was deemed wrong, not quite professional and perhaps it wasn't wise but, for once, John Watson's heart had grabbed hold of something it might never let go of. that thought both intrigued and terrified him yet he could do nothing about it now. He isn't fully admitting it yet but this entire situation is about to become a lot more complicated and he had a strong feeling that his heart was the one to blame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been too long. I apologize. I have been busy lately and when I did have free time it's usually too loud in my apartment to write. It is as well tonight but the music on my Tumblr page is putting me in the mood to type. (Although secretly I have been on a Mystrade kick lately. So there might be a Mystrade fic somewhere in the distant future when I finish the two fics I am writing now.) Anyway, enjoy!! I have been dancing around the edges of this chapter for a while now...Unsure of whether or not to take it where I am about to. It's been a journey and a half figuring it out but I think it'll work out well. :3


	8. Someone To Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries to prove a point but ends up learning one instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. It's been ages. I am so sorry I haven't updated. Life has been crazy, for me, but it's all good now and I hope to be updating more frequently. I hope you enjoy this one and thanks for not giving up on me. :3
> 
> Also, I don't really like this chapter. Let me know in the comments if it's alright? I might revise it later but for now, just give me your honest opinions. Thanks everyone and again, sorry about the delay.

  John leaves his office frustrated but determined. He reaches Sherlock's door and pauses as he pulls himself together. He knocks but hears nothing. He knocks again and still, nothing. He announces his presence and slowly opens the door to enter the room. Sherlock appears to be sleeping although John can tell from the slight bounce in his shoulders that he is, in fact, awake and crying. John slowly walks towards the bed and begins to speak so as not to startle the patient.

  "Sherlock? Are you okay? Look about earlier..." Sherlock buries his head in the sheets like a child. "Go away, Dr. Watson." John does not leave but reaches out to lay a hand on the young man's back. "Sherlock, please, can I talk to you?" Sherlock relaxes as soon as he feels John's hand on him. He hates himself for it but he doesn't tense up again. "You talk, I'll decide if I want to listen." John smiles a sideways smile and nods.

  "Sherlock, look, I didn't mean to upset you earlier. I just thought that maybe we could talk about your diagnosis. I just feel like you've been living under the impression that you have no ability to feel emotion when you've displayed so much of it, to me, already." Sherlock pulls at the sheets and wraps himself up tighter, saying nothing. "Look, we don't even have to talk about that if you don't want to. I apologize for upsetting you and for bringing it up. I only want to help you, Sherlock. I don't want to hurt you, I promise you that." Sherlock rolled over then a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

  "Coke." He looked hopeful. "I'm sorry? Are...Are you thirsty?" Sherlock grinned at him because he knew the answer but he wanted to see the doctor's reaction first. "Coke, John. The entire reason I'm here." John tilted his head in confusion which made Sherlock smirk. "I. Need. Some. Coke! Can't you understand that? Get me some coke and we'll talk about what's in my head. Prepare yourself though, it's not going to be pretty." John's face screws up in understanding and he shakes his head in disbelief. "Sherlock, I am not giving you drugs. I am not a drug dealer I am a doctor." Sherlock sits up and faces John then. John feels much smaller and, if he's honest, very intrigued, by Sherlock's sudden, very dominant, presence.

  "Well then," Sherlock says looking down at John with wild eyes and an evil smirk on his face. "Doctor Watson," He traces his finger down John's chest, along his torso and across his abs to the top of his left thigh. "You had better work that magic doctor brain of yours to come up with a distraction because if I don't get my fix, and soon, you are going to see a whole new side of me that I'm not so sure you'll like. Tell me then, if that diagnosis was correct."

  John couldn't move, nor did he want to. He knew full well, that this was wrong and that he should pull away from the patient. Though, he had a very strong feeling that Sherlock would rather hurt himself than hurt him and anything was manageable. So he lifted his chin in defiance and stood his ground. He moved to speak and was surprised at the strength in his voice.

  "Sherlock, you need to stop this. I understand that you are at a low point and you feel you need the drugs but remember you are here to get clean. Let's not get distracted with..." Sherlock's laugh was deep and seemed to resonate around the entire room. He places his mouth next to the shell of John's ear and speaks. "Oh John, poor, sweet, innocent, Doctor Watson, I can read you like a book, you know that. I could tell you your whole life story, you know that, but not right now. Right now, what I want is for you to admit to me, what it is you're feeling right...now."

  He emphasizes that last word by blowing his hot breath into John's ear and John actually drops the file in his hand. Papers scatter the floor but he couldn't care less. He was much too close to his patient but he didn't much care. This was not at all professional and he just couldn't bring himself to stop. He mutter something incoherently and so Sherlock put his hands in John's hair and tilted his hands up to his face.

  "What was that Dr. Watson? Oh, that's right, we're alone now. I can call you by your first name, can't I? John? So tell me, John? What are you feeling right now? Go on, tell me." John shook with indecision and anticipation. "Sher....Oh, God, Sherlock, I ...We can't. I can't. I'll lose my..." "John, would you like me to deduce you? Would you enjoy that? Listening to my voice tell you exactly how you're feeling right now. You'll tell me I'm right, you know, or deny it because you're a professional. I will know either way, but it's what you want isn't it? You enjoy my voice anyway but having me tell you exactly how hot you are, for me, right now, that'll really turn you on wouldn't it?"

  John reaches his hand up and places it on Sherlock's cheek. He strokes that impossible cheekbone and smiles a soft, sweet smile. Sherlock appears confused and a little disappointed. John speaks and it's not what Sherlock expects.

  "Sherlock, you cannot seduce me into bed with you in return for drugs or anything else. I am nothing short of a professional. Now, as your doctor I am ordering you to get out of that bed, grab some clothes and go take a shower. A long one. When you get back we can talk about what just happened because I don't believe that's the person you truly are. Now go!"

  Sherlock pulled his hands out of John's hair and pushed past him off of the bed to the dresser which held his clothes. He was slamming drawers and stomping around like a child taking a tantrum. Muttering to himself he was getting the necessary items he needed for the shower and John thought he heard Sherlock words.

  "Bloody adorable face! It's his fault I started it anyway. What the hell am I supposed to do now? He holds me and I'm not even allowed a bloody kiss? What kind of Doctor is he, anyway? Bloody awful place this is. I can't wait to get out of her..."

  John walks over and gently takes his arm, turning him around. He sighs deeply and chances a glance at the door. It's closed and he knows most of the staff are on lunch break. So he decides to be brave and to hell with professionalism. Right now, this man needed a friend, he needed to know he wasn't the freak so many others deemed him to be. So John reached for his hand and pulled him over to the chair. He sat down and pulled Sherlock onto his lap before he spoke, Sherlock wearing a look of complete surprise.

  "Sherlock, I refuse to have sex with you as a distraction. I refuse to break the law just so you have something other than drugs to focus on. I refuse to be your play thing while you recover. I will however be your friend, your protector and most importantly your doctor. that being said it doesn't mean I am completely unwilling to bend the rules a little. I mean, I have since the beginning anyway, so why not? Right?"

  Sherlock was wide eyed and breathing much faster than he would have liked. He nodded in understanding except that he didn't really. It must have shown on his face because the doctor had reached his hand up, once again, to rub circles over his cheekbone.

  "Sherlock, I want you well and I want you happy. I want you to live and put that beautiful brain of yours to work on something other than how to get your next fix. I understand you need a distraction but perhaps we start small, yeah?" Sherlock looked a bit nervous then. "John?" John smiles and looks deep into Sherlock's eyes. "Do you want to continue your rehabilitation under my care?" Sherlock smiles slightly and nodding but then a wave of guilt washed over him. "I am sorry, John. I shouldn't have tried to.." "No, Sherlock. You shouldn't have. I forgive you, okay? I really do. Don't make it a habit, though alright?" He nods and smiles shyly. "Now, one more thing. You can take the offer or leave it but I am putting it out there because I believe that physical comfort can be just as effective as anything else. Alright?" Sherlock nodded.

  His breath was coming quickly and he saw the doctor bite his lip as he wraps his arms around the younger man. One arm around his waist and one hand on the nape of his neck as he pulls Sherlock in closer. Sherlock wraps an arm around his shoulder, holding his head in his palm and the other he places on John's warm, open face. Sherlock's breath hitched but he managed to meet the doctors eyes. They were so warm, so friendly, so kind and understanding. Sherlock almost loses himself in them and then they close. He feels a pair of thin, soft but firm lips on his full pair and suddenly nothing in the world matters. Nothing is of any importance. Nothing except the soft, firm kiss of his doctor.

  Sherlock melts into John's chest as the doctor's arms tighten around him. He moans softly and begins to gently brush his fingers along John's face. His other hand works it's way into John's hair as he uses it to pull him closer. John's arms are strong, that is the first deduction Sherlock makes. John likes the feel of Sherlock's hair, his second deduction. Both his hands have found their way into his unruly mop of black curls and seem content to just play. John moans when Sherlock licks against his lips and catches John's tongue. Their mouths open simultaneously and their tongues sweep over each other for the first time. They both moan and tighten their hold on each other. The kiss is still slow but deep and meaningful.

  This is not the type of kiss Sherlock would expect to receive form anyone. This kiss said I'll protect you. This kiss said I'm here, don't worry. This kiss said please, let me stay, let me help you. This kiss said I'm home. Sherlock, right then, without a second thought, had promised himself to John. He'd given him full access to his head, his body and his heart. He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to handle a life without the drugs. He felt the need more and more everyday. He wanted to go get high right now, to get his fix and run away and hide and bury is heart. He wanted to go back to having nobody to disappoint, nobody to care for or miss him. He wanted to be alone again....Except, that he didn't. He didn't want to lose John. He didn't want to hide from John or bury his heart away so John couldn't find it. He definitely didn't want to hurt or disappoint John. He knew, this man, whoever he was to become, might very well either be the making of him or make him worse than ever. Sherlock Holmes couldn't wait to find out.

 


	9. Big Brother Is Always Watching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been ages, I know. I have no good excuse except for writers block. I don't know that I enjoy what I am writing now but I need to get something out there so please, bare with me and if this chapter turns out to be horrible perhaps I will rewrite it.
> 
> I created an edit for this piece as well. I posted it at the beginning as well as here so anyone who is either not caught up or waiting for more can still see it. I hope you like it.
> 
>  
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> 
> [](http://s64.photobucket.com/user/Johnlockthedoors/media/8338c594-c98a-498f-a787-b263e8375d88_zps698d441b.jpg.html)  
> 

  There were certain things that, unbeknownst to Sherlock,  John was very much aware of. The first was that Sherlock, despite his abrasive behavior, at times really did feel strong emotion. He just doesn’t always understand it. This could be due to any number of things. John, however, believed it to be a side effect of a neglectful upbringing. The second was that Sherlock was, quite literally, starved for affection and attention. He was willing to bet that is part of the reason the young man had turned to drugs and an anarchic life to begin with. He simply wanted attention and it didn’t even matter if that attention was negative. So long as someone, anyone, was paying him some sort of attention, he was happy. Well, as happy as Sherlock Holmes could manage without recreational drugs.

 As John pulled his lips away the younger man seemed to follow them. He kissed him, with shorter lingering kisses until he felt desperate for air. Upon stopping he peeled his eyes open and smiled back at his doctor. Blushing lightly he leaned over to lay his head on John’s shoulder and sigh, not caring about anything, not thinking about drugs.

 “How are you feeling now?” John had asked him, still concerned and worried about the young man.

“Hmm? ….Oh yeah. Umm...G-Good, now. Y-Yeah.” Came Sherlock’s shaky, contented voice.

“How about a shower then and you can rest for the night? I have some things to take care of and then I’m leaving for the evening.”

Sherlock pulled back and looked up at him then. “You’re leaving?”

He looked horrified. John quickly replied “Not for good, Sherlock. I do have a home, you know. I need sleep as well.”

Sherlock nodded in understanding but couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

“Hey,” John lifted his chin so he could look into the younger man’s eyes.

“I am coming back in the morning, okay? I’ll be here first thing to check on you, alright?”

 Sherlock nodded again and made to move from the doctor’s lap. John, however, pulled him in and wrapped his arms around him again. Holding him for a few moments he squeezed him gently before letting him go. Smiling Sherlock got up and silently picked out some pajamas and grabbed his toothbrush. John walked with him to the bathroom and handed him a towel.

 Once he left the bathroom he walked over to his office to grab his things and lock up for the day. He walked back into Sherlock’s room and tidied up a bit before he could finish his shower. Once Sherlock had arrived back in the room his bed was made and his floor was clean. John was sitting in the chair reading and he looked up and smiled as Sherlock placed his toothbrush in it’s case and walked over to sit on the bed.

“So, umm...J-John?”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“Do you think?....I mean, would….would I be allowed to request some things….from you, since I don’t really watch telly or talk to the other residence. Nothing...bad, just something to….occupy my time with? Please? I….I can’t stand to be bored. It is like torture when my brain won’t shut up and I can’t do anything with the information it feeds me.”

  
John just smiled in both appreciation at his request and understanding.

“Of course, what would you like, Sherlock?”

Sherlock hesitated but. biting his lip, he responded.  
  
“I….Well, some paper, or a notebook, a fairly thick one….or a few, because I have a lot of ideas all the time but no way of writing them down. I’d like a lapt...er...Well, m-maybe access to the internet somehow...I like to do research and experiments and I post my findings on a blog. I haven’t done in quite some time and although i know nobody reads it I like to keep it up….I guess for myself more so than anybody else.  Lastly, I don’t even know if this is allowed but if you could perhaps contact my brother…. Have him send over my violin. I play when I am stressed or when my brain refuses to shut up. It calms me and sometimes even helps me to sleep.”

Surprised, John jotted down the list and smiled when he realized Sherlock played an instrument. Not just any instrument, he played violin. That alone was impressive.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, here.” John reached into his bag and pulled out a thick, black notebook and handed it to Sherlock with a pen. He placed a few more in the drawer beside him and smiled.

  
“I figure there’s no point in being driven completely insane while you wait so you take those and try not to use them all tonight. You do need sleep after all.”  
  
Sherlock felt both excited and surprised at John for his willingness to not only help but his understanding and care. He smiled and took the notebook and pen with anticipation.  
  
“Now, as for internet access, we’ll talk about that tomorrow okay? I can probably get you access to the hospitals wifi but you have to promise not to use it to do anything illegal alright? I am not even supposed to give you this but, I know what it’s like the bored and how frustrating it can be when you have nobody to share your thoughts with.”  
  
Sherlock nodded but bit his lip. Opening his mouth to speak he decided not to and closed it in favor of just placing the notebook on the bedside table and crawling under the covers of his bed.

“I know, you have nothing here to actually access the internet. I promise you, tomorrow, you will okay? Just try to use it discreetly. They don’t mind you having electronics in here but they won’t like the idea of me giving you access to the outside world.”

“But...How?” But John cut him off.  
  
“Just never mind, for tonight. Just sleep as much as you can and try to get yourself sorted, alright?”  
  
“Okay. Doct...er….John?”  
  
“Yeah. Sherlock?”  
  
“Can I….Could I have….one more thing, before you go?”  
  
“Hmm? What is it?”  
  
“I know I have no right to ask this of you….but could I….could I have another really quick….k-kiss before you leave for the night?”  
  
John melted at the other man’s request. Such a simple request but God, he was so terrified to just ask for it. John decides not to make him wait. Instead he just walks over and sits on the side of the bed. Leaning down he wraps his arms around Sherlock, pulling him close and he smiles when he feels the other man’s arms around him, holding tight to his back and shoulders. John presses his lips to Sherlock’s. He tightens his hold and moans through the soft, firm press of his doctor’s lips. Before pulling back John gives Sherlock a few little lingering pecks to satisfy him as well as himself.

“Oh God, John you can kiss!” Sherlock’s lips were swollen and red and he looked blissed out.  
  
“Mmm, so you like this then? You’re okay with this? I….I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Sherlock.  
  
“God yes!....I mean, I ….It’s just that. I…” Sherlock stuttered and suddenly felt ridiculous, practically begging for affection. Like he was starving and had never had a simple kiss before. But wasn’t that true?  
  
“Sherlock, it’s alright to enjoy a kiss. In fact,that’s the point.” John smiles and places one more kiss on his closed lips before laying him down and wrapping the blankets over him.  
  
“Goodnight, Sherlock. Try to be good for the nurses in the morning, yeah?”  
  
"Mmhm.” Came his sleepy reply.  
  
John laughed silently and ran a hand through the other man’s curls before stepping out of the room and closing the door. Today was a very interesting day and he couldn’t wait to see what the rest of his internship was going to be like.

 

Upon arriving home John had opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of his favorite wine. He pours a glass and orders takeaway, feeling much too tired to cook. Turning on the telly he flips through some channels before giving up and throwing on a James Bond film. As the opening credits start he walks into his bedroom, strips off his uniform leaving him in nothing but his pants. Grabbing a robe he walks back into the sitting room and relaxes until his food arrives. Once he has eaten and devoured more than half his glass he decides to retire for the night.

 Setting his alarm and smiling he lays back in bed and tries, he really tries, not to think about full lips, warm skinny body and a mess of black curls while he falls into sleep. He understands now, more than ever, the need to help someone. The need to want someone to help themselves. He’s never truly felt connected to anyone on such a desperate level before. John Watson needed Sherlock to survive because John Watson wasn’t so sure he could survive without Sherlock and wasn’t that a revelation to make. While John slept the time crept by, life went on and the world kept spinning. Nothing had drastically changed yet he felt more alive and more excited than he has in a very long time.

  
 When John’s alarm went off  the next morning he practically jumped out of bed. He was humming to himself as he got ready and packed the few extra things he needed for the day. He had planned to grab breakfast on his way but when he arrived at the car park and started digging for his keys he noticed his car was not where he had parked it the night before. Instead there was an ominous looking man standing, with the help of an umbrella, next to a sleek, black car.

  
“Doctor Watson.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, and you are?” John replies. Not backing down and not showing his fear.

“Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock’s brother.” The man replies

“Perfect.” John muttered to himself.

With a sly smirk and a knowing look in his eye the man locked his eyes on John’s and said.

“We’ve some important matters to discuss, I’m afraid.” Well this day just got a whole lot more interesting didn’t it?


	10. Bravery Comes From The Deepest Of Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is a narcissistic, greedy arsehole and John is a BAMF.
> 
> Basically, they have a meeting and it does not go well....for one of them. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh!! A shiny new chapter! Bet ya didn't see that coming! ;)
> 
> BAM : Surprised ya!!
> 
> So while Martin's making movie magic and Benedict's making Sophie babies I thought it would be a fantastic time to make myself a little less lazy.
> 
> And thus, this chapter was born. Cuz let's face it, we all need a distraction from the baffling and oh, so confusing Victorian Sherlock Special Setlock photographs with little to no context that we are being spoon fed by Mofftiss. So this chapter is for everyone who decided not to abandon this fic and who doesn't hate me for not updating in months. THANK YOU!!!
> 
> (Also, I confess I should never have started a second fic until I finish this one because I had to put the other one on hold for lack of time and motivation to write. -- End Disclaimer)
> 
> Now shut me the hell up so we can get on with the story. Geez!

John looked at the taller man as if he was a school yard bully just waiting to take his lunch money, not having a sweet clue of the power the good Dr. kept hidden under knit jumpers and blue scrubs. He smirked at him and stood straight with his chin pushed out and his eyes locking with Mycroft's. Nothing this man would say to him, either now or in later meetings, would affect him or sway his care or opinion of Sherlock Holmes.

 

"What have you done with my car?" John asked staring him in the face stern and unyielding.

The taller man smirked and leaned onto his sleek black umbrella before responding with "Do you like your job, Dr. Watson?"

John didn't respond, he didn't flinch, he didn't back down. "I already told you, how I choose to care for your brother is not your concern. Especially not when he is in hospital because of you. If you ask me, you should be the one asking yourself that question. It'd be a damn shame to see the British Government brought down by such a scandal, wouldn't it?"

John had an idea just how much power this other man possessed and how stupid it was of him to even try to threaten him. Yet, the fact that, as the seconds ticked by, he was growing more and more late and the man laying in a hospital bed right now was expecting him, would most likely panic when he wasn't there on time, kept him from truly caring about anything else at the moment.

Mycroft laughed a sinister chuckle and grinned at John like a hungry hyena staring down it's next victim.

"I occupy a minor position in the British Government, it is not without it's shortcomings. Threats are a daily occurrence and so, for that, your words hold no weight."  
  
John smirked a disbelieving snort brought forth by the other man's ridiculous and, quite frankly, time consuming banter.

"Yeah, great, moving on. My car, what have you done with it. While you have most likely already clocked in for your job I've yet to arrive at mine and, if you don't remember, it is your brother I am tending to in the hospital bed you are paying for so your reputation can remain intact. So, if you don't mind, some answers and the removal of your person from my way would be rather appreciated."

The other man actually rolls his eyes and shakes his head with condemnation.

"I need to talk to you about just that, actually. Your....treatment, for my brother is a bit....unorthodox, wouldn't you agree, Dr. Watson?...Or, shall I call you, John? That's what he calls you doesn't he? John? First name basis and you've only been his Dr. for such a short time already. Hmph, what the other interns and your boss would think of the more...unconventional acts you've been carrying out with him. I am sure you aren't afraid of me but you might change your mind when the word comes from first hand knowledge."  
  
John freezes but tries not to display his fear on his face. Instead, he forcefully relaxes and holds his ground before speaking.

"First of all, how the hell do you know anything about how I treat Sherlock? Secondly, my superiors trust my judgement and Sherlock has no reason to go to any of them about my treatment. I have done nothing that he hasn't expressly agreed to. I wouldn't hurt him and my only plan is to heal him, body mind and soul."  
  
Mycroft laughs a condescending chuckle then and then replies.  
  
"Please, my brother is a crack addict and an emotional wreck. If he were to say anything in the context of agreement towards you I am sure it is only for his own selfish and narcissistic reasons. He does love to be dramatic."  
  
"Well thank god, you're above all that." John says with a tight sniff and a glare as cold as steel.

"Tell me, Dr. Watson, do you plan to continue your associations with my brother?"

John looked at him with half shock and half disbelief. "I could be wrong but, I think, that's none of your business."  
  
"It could be." Mycroft stated.

"It really couldn't" John retorts.

"Just a word of advice, if you do happen to return to hospital room 221B in the drug and rehabilitation wing, to care for my brother, I would be willing to offer you a meaningful sum of money to....ease your way. Also, I could make some calls, pull some strings, have you...extricated, from the care of my younger brother, to a much more....suitable, position."  
  
"Nope. Not interested. Are we done?" John was overly annoyed now and in utter shock that this man would be so willing to have his brother forced to remain where he was rather than receive proper care to be discharged as soon as possible.

"Do I need to threaten you again?" Mycroft seemed to present himself even taller now, more sinister looking and, if John had a say, he kind of reminded him of Jafar from Aladdin. He attempts to look terrifying but only ever truly succeeds at look half wit and empty, as far as fear and dominance towards John was concerned.

"You could try but I don't think you're going to get very far." John replies with a grin.

"I will not have my name slandered in the papers and on the telly because of my brothers....habits and extracurricular activities. He is a disgrace to me, to mummy and to all who come across him. I put him where he is as an alternative to an asylum, although, that might be where he ends up next, we'll see how the months progress, shall we?"

John Watson was a brave man. Anyone who knew him could tell you a story or two of fights he's started and lots he's ended all for the honor and virtue of friends and loved ones. John Watson was a loyal, caring and fiercely protective man, anyone who knew him would tell you of the numerous times he has stepped up to the plate to clear the name of, or take a punch for, someone he knew was innocent and undeserving of hate, bullying and/or the repetitive abuse given them by some unsuspecting asshole with a god complex. John Watson, was a doctor, Sherlock's doctor and it took an awful lot of effort, in fact every brain cell in his brain to tell him that lashing out and striking the man before him was probably and most definitely the worst idea his mind had ever come up with. John Watson was holding back and that, for all of his life experience, was something new.

"An assyl..." John stops. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, he counts to ten then twenty and exhales slowly.

"You need to leave. I don't want to hear another word from you in regards to your brother. He is under my care and there he shall remain until I see fit to release him back into the world at which point he is free to make any and all decisions alone and without the help of myself, or of a condescending, shit of an older brother whose only purpose in life is to make his younger brother's miserable. He will get better, I will make sure of it and when he does I will make sure that he has the confidence and willingness to care for himself without ever going back to you for help or advice or to even think about you when times get hard. He'll be independent and he'll thrive doing what he loves and it will burn your arse to know just how well he can finally get on without you. So turn your smug, narcissistic, repugnant face around and go back to your cushy desk and your posh government position because you just met Dr. John Watson and, boy, did you just FUCK with the wrong man today."

The other mans face was that of shock and horror. He felt utter disbelief at the Dr's lack of fear and complete surprise at how he chose to speak towards him. However appalled he was he did not dare to speak the words he had floating in his mind just hovering there on the edge of his tongue. Instead he schooled his features into cool indifference and turned on his heel, umbrella swinging round his arm and gave a gesture somewhere towards the right before two cars came driving up. He climbed into one, not looking back, the other pulled up and parked itself beside John, a shorter woman climbed out, ignored him for her mobile as she walked swiftly to the same car Mycroft Holmes had just climbed into.

John climbed into his car and waited for the other one to drive off. Once out of sight he counted to ten, forwards and back, before releasing his breath and slamming his fist into the wheel five times. Cursing out loud as his skin split and he felt the searing pain of bruises and broken knuckles.

"GODDAMNIT! FUCKING HELL!!" He cursed.

"Fucking Mycroft bloody, fucking Holmes, you bloody piece of shit!"

He was searching in his bag and found some bandages. It would work, for now, when he got to the hospital he would need to have it properly bandaged. He supposed it was a good thing he had to drive in late morning traffic, he would be late for work but at least he'd be able to come up with some lame excuse as to why he had a broken hand at 7 am in the middle of a work week. That should be fun explaining to his boss.

He finished wrapping his hand and tucked everything safely inside of his case, putting the meeting behind him. He hoped Sherlock wasn't too worried or stressed out at his absence. He would have to make it up to him and, with that, he drove himself to work and made a silent promise not to tell Sherlock anything about the meeting with his brother. Pulling out into traffic John Watson had one last thought as he drove himself to work.

"This, is going to be one hell, of a very, long, day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've recently grown to absolutely adore Mycroft and his power complex. So, writing him like this is both exhilarating and a bit upsetting because I know our BBC Mycroft truly does care for Sherlock. He says so, many times throughout the stories.
> 
> This Mycroft does not. This Mycroft is narcissistic and greedy and only cares about his job, his reputation and his own overall happiness. I've never written a character quite like Mycroft before so I am having a lot of fun with it. If you have any concerns, criticism or questions please leave me a comment down below and I'll do my best to answer them honestly.
> 
> Also, if you're reading this and your new WELCOME! This is my baby.
> 
> If you're reading this and you've been waiting then THANK YOU for your unwavering patience with this story. I really appreciate all of the kudos and comments. It gives an author motivation and happiness and let's face it who doesn't love to be loved.
> 
> Am I right?


	11. You're Not A Demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know!!
> 
> I won't even make excuses. However, I am in a much better place in my life right now. A safer, more stable home and I have discovered Google Docs which allows me to type this up much easier and safer than notepad.
> 
> Anyway, I gave this chapter my all and I made it extra long for you all to sort of make up for the lack of updates in what, 4 months? Wow...That is a really long time.
> 
> I'm so sorry. Regardless, life goes on and here we are. I make no promises for the next chapter but now that I have GD I will be able to write down ideas and any thoughts that come my way. They usually turn into chapters anyway.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me. I love you all and I appreciate all of your comments, kudos and bookmarks. They make me a happy author. :3

  As morning traffic edged on, John started to feel ill. His broken hand not helping with each flex of torn  muscle over fractured bone while he drove. It seemed to be ages before he arrived at the hospital. He wasn’t quite sure if he felt relieved to be there or sick because he knew his boss would be unimpressed with his tardiness. Parking the car he had just enough time to make it inside the building and into the proper wing to punch in before his boss did her morning rounds to ensure her interns were at their assigned posts. John hoped against all hope that she was either late herself, or perhaps already past his wing of the hospital. As he punched into the clock he heard a familiar click then he felt her presence behind him. Damnit! This really was going to be a very long and tedious day.

 

John, frozen on the spot, opened his mouth to speak but she interrupted any attempt at excuses he would have made.

 

"Oh no, by all means, don’t stop on my watch. It’s not like my watch is the one actually paying you.”

  
John’s shoulders slumped as he turned. His mouth had gone dry and he was trying to come up with a reason when, he wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or not, she spoke first.  
  
“I don’t take excuses, Dr. Watson. Nor do I employ those who cannot be bothered to arrive to work on time. However, given the state of that hand and that rather unruly patient of yours, I’ll let it slide.” She looked John up and down and shook her head, obviously disappointed in him.  
  
“Thank you! I will not be making a habit of this, believe me.” John did his best to hide his grin. Smiling at his boss, in his current state, would not help matters at all.

 

“Now see to your patient and make sure the remainder of your internship is flawless. I don’t like firing people, Dr. Watson but I also don’t enjoy wasting my time. You choose which of the two is more important to you. Your job or whatever it is that caused you to get so angry you would injure yourself in frustration.”  
  
John’s head snapped up then as she winked at him and turned back into her office. Shaking his head he decided to ignore it and head down the hall into the rehabilitation wing. It was eerily quiet now, yet Irene had mentioned his patient being...what was the word? Unruly? Yes, that was it.

 

He walked through the doors and nodded to the nurses. Entering his office he picked up Sherlock’s file and took it, along with his bag, over to his patient’s room. Upon knocking he heard a voice, seemingly frustrated, shout at, rather than to, him.

 

“Oh, what now? Can’t you just bloody well leave me alone already?!” Sherlock shouted.  
  
John giggled and leaned his head against the door before speaking softly. “I would except, well, it’s my job to bother you and, call me crazy, but I actually kind of Liiiiike it!”  
  
The door was pulled open with a start and John had fallen, rather than walked, into the room. Sherlock had just enough wits about him to catch John before he hit the ground.  
  
“Bleeding idiot. What were you leaned against the door for?” Sherlock asked as he sat John in the chair beside his bed.  
  
“Oi!! I didn’t think you’d be tearing it out from under me that’s what.” John laughed and ran his hand through his hair before feeling the skin stretch and pain shoot up his arm.  
  
“Ahhh shit! Gonna have to have that looked at today.” He made a light fist and laid his hand on his lap. Then he noticed Sherlock paying special attention to him.  
  
“What is it? What’s wrong?” John asked at the look of both wonder and horror on Sherlock’s face. Finding it odd that those two emotions could go hand in hand.

 

“I just….You’re hurt, badly...Yet, you chose to come see me first.”  
  
He looked up at John then, feeling confused.  
  
“.....Why?” Sherlock met John’s eyes with curiosity and desperation. A feeling he couldn’t quite describe washing over him as he took in the Doctor’s appearance.

 

“Well I was late enough, I didn’t want to make you wait any longer than was absolutely necessary.” John had hoped Sherlock wouldn’t question him on the source of his injuries.

 

“....Right. Well, it doesn’t quite matter does it now?” Sherlock had asked, looking away from John with a look of both annoyance and impatience.  
  
“What?...Sherlock what does that mean?”

 

“Are you going to tell me how or just continue to pretend I won’t ask or, God help me, you aren’t working upon the false pretense that I wouldn’t, or in this case, hadn’t already figured it out, are you?” Sherlock looks at John now. As if seeing him for the very first time. Eyes taking him in, he stands and walks over to, and around, John while piercing him with his steely gaze.

 

“I don’t…” John swallows hard, being under Sherlock’s gaze like this was a bit more than a little uncomfortable. “I am sure I don’t know what you’re on about Sherlock….Look, how about we get you some breakfast and then we can continue with the days treatment.”  
  
“Ohh no! You’re not getting off that easily Doctor. I, unlike other people, will not be leaving this particular topic alone. Especially when I am certain it has everything to do with me and your...how would he have put it, oh! That’s right. Your ‘unorthodox treatment’ of his ‘crack addict, emotional wreck’ of a brother. Did he offer you money to spy on me?” Sherlock was close now. He was breathing in John’s air, and vice versa.  
  
John swallowed again, finding his throat quite dry. He hesitated, thinking, for a split second, about lying, then thinking better of it. He knew this genius would only figure him out if he did anyway.

 

“Y-Yes, in fact, he did. ..Sherlock, I…”  
  
“Did you take it?” He raised his eyebrows at Sherlock.  
  
“What?! No! Of course not. No. I would never.” It was John’s turn to shoot Sherlock a look of disbelief.

 

“Oh don’t give me that look. You wouldn’t be the first to do so and no-one would blame you, if you had.” Sherlock steps back and flops down into the empty chair that sat next to his bed.

 

“Jesus, Sherlock! I am not like other people. I don’t take kindly to being stalked, interrogated and then threatened by someone who is supposed to be paying the hospital to ensure I take proper care of you. You’re his brother for Christ sake!”  
  
Sherlock shrugged. He had never really seen Mycroft as a compassionate or even considerate older sibling.

 

“So what then, John? Are you going to tell me you defended my honor and, instead of hitting him, which he would have definitely deserved for speaking to you the way he had, you decided to take the anger he generated, out on yourself, of all people?”

 

Sherlock was leaning back in his chair and staring at a spot on the ceiling, pointedly not paying attention to John.  
  
“Actually yes! That’s exactly what happened and I think I broke my bloody hand in the process. A stupid move, I’ll grant you, but I am not in the business of inflicting pain upon others unless absolutely necessary. Even if they are obnoxious arseholes.”  
  
John was starting to feel angry with Sherlock’s lack of concern for either himself or for John for simply caring for him….For doing what was right. For trying to simply help him.

 

“Suppose it doesn’t matter much. It’s not like you’ll be performing surgeries or anything quite so delicate. You’re just caring for a crack head who just happens to be a damn easy snog.”  
  
Sherlock’s words cut John to his core. He care about Sherlock. He truly cared and he was genuinely concerned about him and how the younger man was going to be able to cope in the real world without the help of a Doctor or therapist.  
  
“I can’t….Sherl…”

 

He couldn’t continue. Not only was his pride hurt but his self rrespect was deeply wounded, as well. He felt a tick start in his jaw and he then decided, in that moment, that he was to cease all personal and unprofessional ‘care’ of Sherlock Holmes. If this is how the man wanted to treat him, he could bloody well do without all the extra benefits that came along with John Watson’s care.

 

He turned around then and headed for the door. He paused before speaking again.  
  
“i am going to have my hand seen to. I will have one of the nurses bring your breakfast in. If you have any requests best to put it in with the nurses desk. I’ll be in later to give you an evaluation and to check up on you…..Oh….By the way.”  
  
John turned, pointedly not looking in Sherlock’s eyes, and opened his bag to pull out the tablet and tossed it onto the bed along with a post it note which had the hospitals wifi password and a list of website John thought he might be able to use for research, puzzles and games to keep him from losing his mind with boredom.  
  
“I keep my word, Sherlock. I don’t let my anger cloud my judgement nor do I go back on what I’ve promised. Have a good day. I’ll see you later.”  
  
With that John walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. He stood on the outside of it, hand still on the handle, and took a deep breath before heading over to the nurses desk.  
  
“I need to have someone take a look at this. Do you know if there is anyone in tech this morning?”  
  
The nurse smiled sweetly and checked the schedule and available times before sending him down to X-Ray.

 

Three X-Rays and an hour of humiliation and hurt pride later, John was walking back into the rehabilitation ward with a wrap on his hand and exhaustion written all over him. If today could possibly get any better he really hoped it started to happen soon. He was well beyond needing a turn in luck and if the day was going to improve at all, he had to take care of the worst bits as soon as possible so the rest was easy and worry free.

  


Sherlock sat in his room tapping away on the tablet and writing furiously in his notebook when John arrived to check on him.  
  
“Sherlock, can you put that down for a few minutes? I need to speak with you.” John was attempting his most professional tone, something he knew, Sherlock would see right through.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, tossed the tablet onto the bedside table and stood, stretching his long limbs before walking over to the chair and flopping down unceremoniously into it.

 

John watched him and shook his head weakly, before looking at Sherlock’s chart.

 

“Right, so, the nurses tell me you’re refusing to eat. Do you want to tell me what that’s about? I won’t have access to the kitchen at all hours, Sherlock. You’ll only be served when they do their rounds. No special treatment there I’m afraid.”  
  
He was attempting to make eye contact with Sherlock but the other man was having none of it. Choosing instead to pick at a non existent thread on his pants and shrugging.  
  
“Not hungry, I guess.” He said calmly and nonchalantly.  
  
“....Not hung….Sherlock, you have to eat. You’re in my care and I am to see to it that I do not lose you. Not to drugs or anorexia.”  
  
Sherlock snorted. He actually snorted. Which only caused John to take a deep breath of his own before continuing.  
  
“Right then, lunch time I will make sure they not only serve you, but refuse to remove the tray until, at least half, of the food on the tray is consumed.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and lolled his head back looking away from John.  
  
“Okay, so then, I wanted to ask you about some of the things I questioned you on the first day. You didn’t want to discuss them then but I feel these are vital to your rehabilitation and they are part of the program, so the sooner we get them addressed the better it is for everyone. Trust me, once the difficult part is completed, it gets much easier. I know you don’t want to be here but Sherlock, nobody wants to find your body in an alley somewhere either. Which is what’s bound to happen if you continue on the path you’re on. Whether that be from drugs or not eating. Do you understand me?....Sherlock?”  
  
Sherlock just shrugged his shoulders, not speaking and definitely not looking at John.  
  
“Right then, let’s start. You were rather adamant about not speaking on the topic of your diagnosis. Can you tell me, without us going into detail, about why you feel so strongly attached to the idea that you are a...Sociopath?”  
  
John cringed at the word. He no more believed Sherlock to be a Sociopath than he believed there to be a man in the bloody moon. He wanted, no he needed, to get to the root of this issue if Sherlock had any hope of caring enough about himself to continue on with his treatment.

 

“I told you. I was diagnosed years ago and I fit the bloody profile. What more do you want from ,e Dr?”  
  
Sherlock glared at him but quickly turned away, lips pressed into a thin line, not giving in but not giving up either.  
  
“Except that I’ve read your file. I’ve experienced your emotions, first hand and I have seen how much you do care, Sherlock. That bit just doesn’t fit the role of ‘Anti-Social Personality Disorder at all.”  
  
Sherlock refused to meet his eyes. He sat staring at the wall, as if something fascinating, that only he could see, was happening upon it.

 

“Sherlock, look. I know, okay. I know it’s an uncomfortable topic to discuss. Hell, even I don’t really want to talk about it, but the fact of the matter is sometimes we need to have those uncomfortable discussions in order to fully appreciate and understand ourselves. In order to...fix, ourselves. Our problems.”  
  
John reached over and laid his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Sherlock didn’t flinch or turn away but he did seem to relax a touch and that, for all it was worth, was better than nothing.  
  
“Okay, look, can you please talk to me? We really should discuss…”  
  
Sherlock turned his head so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. He stared at John and John felt suddenly small.  
  
“Discuss what? That I’m a bloody emotionless robot? A lunatic? A fucking FREAK?! Let me tell you something Dr. Watson you’re not the first person to pin a label on me just because they didn’t seem to like the one already attached to my person. Newsflash, not everyone is going to bloody well agree with you, alright? The fast you learn that the better off you’ll be because I can damn well promise you if you’re to become a full fledged Doctor you will need to learn that sooner or later. Everyone has an opinion and there will be others who ask for a second opinion but that doesn’t make the original one wrong. Just move on, find something else to torture me with today. For god sakes.”  
  
John was practicing the breathing exercises he has originally taught Sherlock that first day. He had closed his eyes mid way through Sherlock’s speech and was maintaining a level of calm that surprised even him.

 

“Are you about done now? Can I continue or do you have something else you need to get off your chest?” John asked calmly.

 

Sherlock’s face was one of shock and disbelief. He expected John to get up and run. He expected him to shout or sedate him, he expected John to ….what? Resign his care of Sherlock? Request another Doctor? Not that Sherlock even wanted another Doctor.

 

“You’re not…”  
  
“What? Leaving? Shouting? Getting angry? No. I’ve dealt with much worse in my life, I can assure you of that. Now, if you still don’t feel comfortable talking about that then let’s discuss something else and perhaps, later on, we’ll come back to it, yeah?”  
  
Sherlock groaned but sighed in defeat, knowing he wouldn’t be left alone anytime soon but not willing to completely give himself over to the realm of emotional trauma just yet.

 

“Fine. Yes. Whatever. Just get on with it, would you. I’m already growing bored.”  
  
John took a deep breath, trying his best not to take his words to heart. He had a hard go of it, as he was starting to really enjoy this job because he got to spend so much of his day with this man. So for Sherlock to just dismiss him in such a way hurt deeper than he would have liked to admit.  
  
“Right, uhh...Okay, what about the nightmares then? Can you tell me about them? I am not around in the evenings so I don’t know the frequency in which these occur or if it was just an isolated incident.”  
  
Sherlock felt himself tense as John’s question registered in his mind. John had witnessed part, and the aftermath of, one of Sherlock’s nightmares. The younger man was so embarrassed about it and felt so sick afterwards that he just wanted to curl up into a ball and hide….or die. So talking about it, actually discussing this, was near torture for him, however, John had laid off the diagnoses bit and he did, he assumed, owe him something if he were to have any peace today at all.

 

“They come and go. I won’t have any for a few nights then they’ll hit me again with a ferocious force that leaves me screaming until i’m hoarse and so goddamn sweaty it looks like I took a bath in a vat of oil.”  
  
John just listened. He sat and he watched Sherlock fiddle with his fingers and he listened.  
  
“When was the last time you had one?” John asked for both his file and for genuine concern.  
  
Sherlock sat up and turned his head away, worrying his lower lip he mumbled out something John hadn’t properly heard.  
  
“I...I’m sorry, Sherlock. I am afraid that I can’t hear you. Could you repeat that for me, please?” John asked calmly and quietly.  
  
Sherlock swallowed and glanced at him while he spoke but then quickly turned away, mid sentence.  
  
“I said, I had one last night and again this morning but you were nowhere near to help me and the bloody nurses just wouldn’t leave me alone. I HATE them, John!”  
  
“You don’t hate them Sherlock.” John said feeling sympathy and about a ton and a half of guilt for not arriving on time this morning. Damn traffic and damn Mycroft for making him late!!

 

“Do.” Sherlock let out, feeling childish but humorously pleased.

 

John shook his head and smiled at the other man before he opened his mouth to speak.  
  
“Sherlock, if you like, I mean, if it’ll help you sleep. I could, give you something. It’s not addictive and I can administer it myself. It should take away your nightmares and allow you a decent night’s rest.”  
  
Sherlock gazed up at John and bit his lip as he looked away. “Perhaps….I just don’t….I’m afraid that I….Can I let you know?”  
  
John smiled openly at his patient. “Of course, you can.”  
  
Sherlock nodded and took a deep breath before chancing a glance at John and then the clock on the wall. When he realized he’d been talking to John for a few hours he smiled, despite himself, and sighed happily.

 

“Sherlock, I think that’s enough for now. How about we get some dinner and relax for a while before I go. I think, even with this morning’s row we are both in a much better place and are more than due for some downtime. What do you say? I can even order us some fish and chips so you can have good food instead of horrible hospital food.”  
  
Sherlock grinned at that. He was feeling much better and just being there with John, sweet John, patient John, caring, handsome, glorious John….Whoa! Where did all of that come from? He knew, of course. .It was no shock to him that he liked being around the good Doctor. However, these …..feelings (?) he was experiencing were new and this overwhelming urge to beg him to stay the night was eating away at him.

  
The nights were the worst part. The room was so much colder, so much more empty and ….yes, lonely, without John in it. He needed his Doctor to stay….spend the night. Just...One night. Then, he thought to himself, would one night, really ever truly be enough?  
  
John spoke, bringing Sherlock back to reality. “Did you want 2 pieces or 3?”  
  
And so that was it. John was ordering dinner and Sherlock was privately plotting how best to beg John to stay. He sighed heavily and molded himself back into the chair when really all he wanted was to pull John into bed. Just lying next to him had to help with the nightmares. Right? Would John go for it? Would John see this as a proper treatment or a stand-in, of sorts, for the medication? Sherlock didn’t care for anything that clouded his brain. If he couldn’t think he was no use to anyone. However, sleeping next to a warm body should help him feel safe enough to sleep through the night. Safe enough to take courage in the fact that, should they be disturbed, John would be there, would be there to help….to heal...to...hold?  
  
John smiled as he joined Sherlock a moment later, noticing his pleasant smile and dreamy eyed look he quirked his mouth up into a sideways smile and asked.  
  
  
“What is that brilliant mind of yours thinking about over there, huh?”  
  
Sherlock smirked back at him. Sat up and looked John right in the eyes before speaking.  
  
“I want you to…”  
  
Just then a knock startled him and his head snapped to the door. A nurse popped her head in and smiled at them before speaking. “Dr. Watson, you’ve got a call on line 4.”


	12. Right Where I Want You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is a mess and kips at John's.
> 
> That's just fine by him though as it works perfectly with what Sherlock has planned.
> 
> Mycroft is an arse, as per usual but John is not bothered.
> 
> Also, John gets a bit more than he expected with Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I love Google!
> 
> I had an issue with this chapter going missing from my Google Docs account. So, I emailed their customer care and they were able to recover the lost document for me in just a few hours!!
> 
> So, here it is! In all it's glory. (I apologize if it's short but I honestly just wanted to get it up before something else happened.)

John turned his head towards the nurse and smiled back at Sherlock before getting up.  
  
“Right, I’ll be there in a tic.” He said as the nurse smiled, closing the door behind her.  
  
Sherlock huffed his disappointment and sat back, feeling a bit of nervousness come over him.  
  
“Hey.” John reached over to him and took his hand.  
  
“I’ll be right back, yeah?”  
  
Sherlock beamed up at him and nodded before John released his hand and left the room.  
  
Once in his office he picked up the phone and dialed into line 4. He heard a slurring on the other end and had to bite back his anger at the sudden realization. It was Harry and she was, very obviously, drunk.  
  
“Doctor Watson’s office, how may I help you?” John was nothing, if not polite.

“Johnny!! Oh Johhnnyy! It’s ME! It’s Harry!” The voiced boomed into the speaker and John had to hold the phone away from his ear to avoid deafening himself.  
  
“Yes, I gathered that. Look, Harry, you’re going to get me fired. What are you calling me at work for?”  
  
“Can’t I just call to say hi?” The voice was loud but not as loud as the music in the background.  
  
“You’re very drunk, as usual, and I am working. What do you want?” John was feeling a tad bit irritated now. He wasn’t expecting to have to play caregiver to his very drunk, alcoholic sister today.  
  
“Nuffin I just want to say ….I think you should come celebrate with us!”

John was taking deep breaths in and exhaling slowly to prevent himself from becoming angry.  
  
“Clara and I are back together! Isn’t that great Johnny? Come have some drinks with us!”  
  
“Us? Is Clara drinking with you then?” John knew the answer to that question already.  
  
“No! Of course she’s not. You know how much she hates it. Besides I am wanting to get drunk and just needing to relax yeah?”  
  
“Harry you already are drunk. Look, just, God, if you want to keep Clara you know she can’t see you like that. You still have the key to my place, yeah?”  
  
“Pfft. Yesh I do!”  
  
“Great, go to my place. Now! I’ll stay at the hospital tonight. Just, sleep it off, please?”  
  
“Okay Johnny bear! I’ll go home...to your home...I think my friend is calling a cab now. Night Johnny!”  
  
“Harry, just be careful, yeah?”  
  
“I’m fiiiiinnnne!”  
  
John heard the line go dead and decided to make a note to check in later to see if she had, in fact, gone home. For now, he decided to just leave it. He had other more important things to take care of.  
  
After taking a few minutes to calm down he left the office and headed across the hall back into Sherlock’s room.  
  
“Sorry about that.”  
  
John walked in and smiled when he noticed Sherlock typing away on the tablet. He looked up at John and frowned.  
  
“What’s wrong?”...And don’t tell me it’s nothing you know I can tell when you’re lying and you’ve got worry and stress written all over you.”  
  
John sighed and ran a hand through his hair and over his face plopping down onto the chair.  
  
“Just, my sister. She’s drunk, called me at work and now she’s on her way to my flat to sleep it off so her girlfriend doesn’t find out.”  
  
“John, if you need to go…” Sherlock looked over at John feeling both disappointed and worried.  
  
“Go? Oh! No, you misunderstand. I won’t be going. We...We don’t get on when she’s drunk. She and I, we’ve not had the best relationship. So, I told her I’d stay here. I will either work all night or I’ll kip in the office. I don’t know yet. It’s barely dinner time.”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes went wide and he had to force himself to stop grinning. He cleared his throat and offered a small smile to his Doctor.  
  
“Umm...I uhh, well….I wouldn’t mind if you maybe stayed in here, for the night.”  
  
Sherlock looked away immediately not daring to meet John’s eyes. He held his breath, expecting to be let down.  
  
John sat with his head in his hands listening to Sherlock and he nodded without even realizing what he was being offered.  
  
“Yeah...Yeah, wait...What did you just? Did...Did you just offer for me to spend the night with you, Sherlock?”  
  
“I am not...That is….I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I just mean, to sleep….maybe, share...the bed?” Sherlock bit his lip and silently cursed himself for sounding so bloody weak.  
  
John just looked at him with both surprise and wonder.  
  
“It….I mean, should we? I mean the nurses keep to themselves overnight and there are only two on rotation once the Doctor’s and the rest of staff leaves for the night. So, we shouldn’t be bothered just….God, Sherlock, are you sure?”  
  
Sherlock watched John and listened to his stammering before nodding fiercely. Unable to believe he was getting what he wanted and so easily, as well.  
  
“I don’t want you sleeping in that awful chair and you aren’t caring for me all bloody day then working all night and returning here tomorrow to work. I won’t have it. So, sleep here, with me...Who knows, it...It might not be that bad really.”  
  
John grinned at him then. A feeling of both relief and excitement washing over him. He wasn’t sure, no scratch that, he was damned sure this wasn’t proper but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. Tonight, he would have what he wanted and what he wanted was Sherlock warm in his arms.  
  
“John?”  
  
Sherlock looked up at John as he smiled back at him.  
  
“Yeah, Sherlock?”  
  
“Could I...Can I please kiss you?”  
  
John melted at the younger man’s plea and climbed up out of his chair and onto the man’s bed. He leaned in and wrapped his arm around Sherlock and placed his opposite hand on the other’s face before softly pressing his lips to Sherlock’s.  
  
Sherlock let out a deep sigh and a soft moan when John bit his lower lip. He wrapped both arms around John and pulled him in tight against him. John giggled a bit and they both pulled back and smiled, leaning their foreheads together.  
  
“God, this shouldn’t feel this right. Not when it’s legally wrong. Sherlock what is it about you that I am so bloody attracted to?”  
  
Sherlock was panting and locked his eyes with John as he smiled and nuzzled their noses together.  
  
“I have no idea….I could ask the same about you. I just….I feel connected to you. I don’t ever get that feeling with anyone. I barely tolerate the people I need to and that’s it. For me to show an actual interest in someone else is unbelievable.”  
  
John laughed affectionately and gave Sherlock a peck on the cheek and sat back, holding his hands.  
  
“Well, now that we have all that sorted how about I go grab the fish and chips I ordered for us both and we can talk a bit while we have dinner, yeah?”  
  
Sherlock grinned and nodded. Feeling, for the first time in ages, something akin to happiness.

John smiled and stood leaning over to kiss his unlikely companion once more before smiling and heading out the door. The restaurant was only a five minute walk from the hospital so he decided to leave his car in the car park. It was a foggy evening but still fairly warm as he made his way down the street. He realized, in the chaos of the morning, that he he hadn’t remembered to ask Mycroft about Sherlock’s violin. Pulling out his phone he let out a deep sigh and punched in the numbers to the card the older Holmes had given him earlier that day.  
  
“Ahh, Dr. Watson. You have finally come to your senses then, have you?” That slick velvety voice said smiling, like a lunatic, through the phone.

John’s teeth were grinding together in his attempt to remain calm. “No. Just need a favor. More for Sherlock then myself, though, I have a feeling, that I will have the pleasure of enjoying it myself.”  
  
“Oh? What exactly does this favor entail, Dr. Watson?”  
  
“Sherlock’s requested his violin. Normally we wouldn’t allow such things but I honestly believe it could only aid in his recovery.”

John was standing taller now. He wasn’t even in the presence of the older man but he wanted to seem as unphased and brave as possible when dealing with Mycroft.

“Ahh yes, well. If I have the time I shall try to get over to that disaster he calls a flat and pick it up.” Mycroft mused with, seemingly, no intention of doing so.

“Well, if it’s at his flat then he should have a key, yeah?” John was not letting him get away that easily.  
  
“Well yes, I imagine it could be in with his things that he brought with him when he checked into hospital.”  
  
“You admitted him, Mycroft. He didn’t want to be here. Am I grateful that he is? Yes. At least now he knows what proper care is like.” John was seething now. He could practically feel the bone deep cold and disconnected aire about the other man.  
  
“Yes well, he needed it didn’t he? Couldn’t have him mucking about and ruining my reputation, now could I?”  
  
John bit his lip so hard it all but bled. His grip on his mobile tightened to the point of pain as he rounded the corner and came face to face with the doorway to the shop where he ordered their food.  
  
“Fine. Forget it. I’ll swing by tomorrow and pick it up, myself.”  
  
“Are you sure that’s wise? My brother can be quite the …. slob when it comes to housekeeping. That flat might appall you.”  
  
“No. You know what? That doesn’t bother me. I’m sure I’ve dealt with worse. What does appall me, though, is someone so high and mighty, like yourself, who claim to only have the good of the nation in your thoughts can’t be bloody well arsed to take five minutes out of your day to actually give a fuck about your younger brother. You don’t even call. Unless it’s to threaten me.”  
  
He could hear Mycroft take a breath and open his mouth to speak but quickly cut him off again.  
  
“No. I don’t want to hear it. Your excuses, your reasons, your bullshit about how busy you are and how your reputation is the only thing that matters at all to you. I don’t want to bloody well here it. Talk to me when you’ve decided to give a shit about him and maybe then I’ll have an update for you. Goodnight, Mycroft.”  
  
With that John ended the call and took several deep breaths before heading in to pick up their food. He grabbed some drinks as well and placed a reminder in his mobile to ask Sherlock for his flat key so he could swing by the younger man’s home to grab his beloved instrument.  
  
He headed back out into the cool air. Sometime in the short few minutes he had spent inside it had started to rain. It wasn’t even a mist. It was the type of rain that came down in sheets and made it impossible to remain dry no matter how fast you walked. John decided, for the sake of their food and not spending the night in soaked clothing, to hail a cab. He tucked the coke’s into his pockets and squinted through his already dripping wet face, raised his free arm and hailed a cab. He jumped in and gave the cabbie his location, arriving within three minutes of climbing into the vehicle.  
  
John quickly paid the cab, leaving a tip for his troubles and terrible driving conditions, and hopped out and into the building before him. He made his way back to Sherlock’s room, smiling at the nurses as they switched shifts and, after knocking once, entered to find Sherlock’s room empty. He turned and noticed the nurse just finishing up and heading out and she smiled at him before pointing to the showers. John smiled back and wished her a good night.

He entered the room and laid the food down on the bedside table. He moved their chairs closer together and placed the table in the middle. Sitting back he placed the cans of coke with the food and headed into his office to remove his coat and dry his hair.

John was just sitting down in the chair when Sherlock walked in, towel around his waist, and closed the door.  
  


“Ahh you’re here!” John chimed and turned to smile at him.

  
Sherlock hadn’t expected the good Doctor to be back yet..  
  
“John!”  The sight of him sitting there, soaking wet hair, all messed up and smiling back at him startled the younger man effectively causing him to drop his towel  to the floor. Leaving him now standing completely nude in front of John.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be some smut in this fic in the near future. I'm not certain yet.
> 
> Just keep checking the tags for future chapters to come. I will warn you before it happens so feel free to skip the naughty bits if that's not your jam. ;)


	13. (21 Guns) Wake Me Up When September Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected feels made me cry while writing this.
> 
> Basically John opens up to Sherlock about his family history and they finally share a bed together.
> 
> No smut but the fluff and feels are off the charts.
> 
> *Offers a case of tissues and a shock blanket*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Alex and Sandra because they have keep me right and calm me down. After the day I had today, and how I felt (HINT : A bit not good!) they deserve so much more than what I can give them. So, as always, I pour my emotions into writing and out comes.....THIS.
> 
> Anyway, here, it's another update in only a week. That's gotta count for something right? (I told you I loved Google Docs!)
> 
> Kudos are fab and all but comments make me a happy author!! Leave some love for me below. :)

Sherlock stood rigid and terrified as John’s eyes locked with his and then, just for a second, dropped before he turned and grabbed the sheet from the bed.

Geez. Get a grip, Watson! It’s not like you’ve never seen a naked man before. You went to medical school, after all.

John walked over to the younger man and wrapped the sheet around him, effectively covering Sherlock’s body with his embarrassment.

“Hey, look at me.” John said quietly and softly to the other man.

Sherlock had appeared to have taken on a deep red shade as he bit his lip so hard in embarrassment that it almost bled.

“It’s fine, yeah? It’s all fine.” John smiled up at him and was relieved to see a small smile play on the others lips as well.  
  
Sherlock cleared his throat before speaking. “I uhh...didn’t expect you back yet...Apologies, John. I am very underdressed for dinner.”  
  
John could do nothing but smirk and shake his head playfully at the other man. He rubbed his arm affectionately and picked up the towel he’d dropped moments before.  
  
“I am going to go check the messages in my office. I’ll knock before I come in, yeah?”  
  
Sherlock nodded and swallowed hard before the Doctor walked around him, exiting the room. He didn’t move until the door shut behind him and he finally let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

He made quick work of finding clothes. He tossed on a tee shirt and pajama bottoms and ran his fingers through his, still damp, hair before returning the sheet to the bed. After looking around he noticed John had set the food out and sat in his usual spot across from the good Doctor.

Moments later there was a light tap at the door and Sherlock chuckled quietly before speaking.  
  
“It’s okay. I’m decent now.”

The door opened slowly and John entered quietly with a warm light in his eyes when he saw Sherlock ready to eat.  
  
“I’ve let staff know I’ll be spending the night. They believe I’ll be between working and kippng in my office and have decided to not to bother me for details. Luckily for you my boss is leaving soon and there is minimal nursing staff on tonight. If I have my way I’ll be keeping them mostly in the other wings.”  
  
Sherlock snorted and shook his head.  
  
“Well that shouldn’t be a problem since they all seem to despise me. I’m sure your ‘I’ve got this sorted why not give the maternity ward some extra help tonight’ won’t be met with any kind of reluctance.”  
  
John sighed deeply as he sat and listened to his words.

“They don’t despise you, Sherlock. They simply don’t understand you. It didn’t help that, after your first night here, you had a terrible nightmare and terrified them all out of helping you.”  
  
Sherlock grunted as he shoved a piece of fish into his mouth then hummed appreciatively.

“Dear God, where did you get this? This might be the best fish and chips I’ve ever had.”  
  
John grinned, feeling proud that he was able to get Sherlock to eat something.

“I am glad you like it. I will have to add it to the list of foods you like then.”  
  
Sherlock said nothing but sipped his coke while he continued to chew his food. The two ate in silence, just enjoying the others company, and stealing quick glances at each other between bites and sips.

When John was finished he closed the lid on the container and watched as Sherlock put the last few chips into his mouth.

“You ate that whole thing. I’m impressed, Sherlock. Really.”

  
Sherlock chewed and swallowed before sipping his coke and shrugging, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.  
  
“I was hungry and, though I don’t eat much, this is the best food I’ve had in a long time.”  
  
John nodded, feeling a sense of disgust that the elder Holmes had not taken better care of his younger sibling. He was torn between cursing his brother and hugging Sherlock for accepting him and giving John the opportunity to show him what proper care is all about.

“....John I can practically hear you thinking. Just….don’t, please? Just stop it. Stop...stressing, okay?”

  
John nodded and smiled back at him before removing their containers and tossing them into the trash bin. He sat back and chanced a glance at Sherlock who was leaning back now with his eyes closed and his hands steepled under his chin. He looked like he was concentrating hard and John hated to disturb him but there were questions that needed answering and soon, especially if he was to be spending the night in the younger man’s bed.

“Sherlock, uhh….You got a second? I think we need to discuss …. tonight.”  
  
Sherlock took a deep breath and opened his eyes, lolling his head to the side he remained in the same, leaned back, position and raised one eyebrow at the other man signalling that he was now alert and paying attention.

“Right. Okay. Look….A-About tonight. I don’t...That is, I didn’t say yes to sharing a bed because I expect you to be open to the idea of …. “

“John?” Sherlock asked when he noticed the other man’s nervousness.  
  
“It’s not the easiest thing to say, alright Sherlock? It’s difficult for me but I am just going to say it and just try hard not to laugh at me, yeah?”  
  
Sherlock nodded and waited for the Doctor to clear his throat and take a deep breath before saying.  
  
“Tonight isn’t about sex, alright?”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes went wide and his breathing stopped as he registered those words. He felt mild panic rise in his chest as he sat up and opened his mouth only to, momentarily, forget how to speak.

“No! I wasn’t….That isn’t why I….Shit!”

John was out of his seat and by Sherlock’s side in seconds offering a soothing hand and calming tone.

“Hey, hey. I wasn’t assuming you were, okay? I was simply making sure you knew that’s not what I was expecting.

God, to be honest, I could do with a good cuddle while I sleep. It’s been an age since I’ve shared a bed with someone and I have a feeling it will help ease your nightmares.” And mine…. The good Doctor thought.

“I’ve never….That is, I have never shared my bed with anyone before.” Sherlock swallowed and gently ran his fingers over John’s arm and lightly caressed the stethoscope hanging around John’s neck.

“Tell me about this?” He asked “You obviously care about it a lot. You polish it every night when you go home and you show meticulous care when you’re laying it down somewhere. You seem to take your position very seriously but with an aire of something else….something, sentimental, perhaps?”

John felt pride and love heat his cheeks and nodded at Sherlock’s words.  
  
“My father, he was a Doctor. An army doctor, to be precise. This was his and it was given to me after he died with a note that read "someday it could help you save a life.”  
  
John lowered his head, still smiling proudly but feeling somewhat awkward sharing such a personal story with his patient.

“I see, so definitely explains why you take such great care of it. Also explains the sentiment attached to it.

Can I ask…. How did he die? Your father?”  
  
John’s breath caught but he hid it well. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before sitting back in his own chair, leaning forward, running his hands through his hair.

“He was uhm...Ahem...He was shot. In the heart.

He was the only medic, in his squad, in Afghanistan. It wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did. Their squad was attacked during a raid.

They attacked the hospital my father was working in and he just happened to be in the line of fire when they opened up, killing most of the soldiers and patients in the unit.

My mother and I, we found out two days later. We had an officer phone the house but I wasn’t home. They almost didn’t contact us, but one of the few survivors were able to identify my father’s body.

I came home to find my mother in tears on the floor clutching their wedding photo to her chest and calling out my father’s name. She didn’t have to tell me what happened. I already knew.

I helped her off the floor and into bed but she refused to let go of the photograph. I gave her water and some sleeping pills and once she was out I ran as fast as I could out of the house and into the liquor store.

I figured she had her methods of dealing and I was going to have mine. I was 18 when this happened and I spent almost the entire year either drunk or too out of it from lack of nutrition to function.

My mother helped me. She found me one day after banging on my door for twenty minutes and getting no answer. She broke it down only to find me passed out on the floor. I hadn’t eaten in at least a week and I was severely dehydrated from the alcohol.

She already lost her husband and she wasn’t about to lose her son, as well. So she took me to the hospital to have my stomach pumped and made me promise to see a therapist. So, after some reluctance and many attempts to breach my house arrest, I finally agreed.

She saved my life and I owe her everything. So when she asked me what I wanted to spend my life doing the answer was simple. I told her I just wanted to help people.”

John hadn’t realized he had a death grip on the stethoscope until he tried to pry his hand away and it bit into his skin. After a hiss and a low curse he flexed his hand and lifted his head to find the younger man’s eyes full of tears and worry.  
  
“Oh, hey! Hey no, it’s okay. It, I mean, I can talk about it now, you know? It still hurts, of course it always will, but it gets easier, yeah?”  
  
Sherlock fought to catch his breath. He felt his heart breaking for the doctor and he could do nothing but watch as he recounted such painful history. Just then, once John had lowered his head in, what appeared to be, shame. Sherlock had jumped out of his seat and quickly found himself straddling John and wrapping his arms tight around him sealing their lips together in, what was probably, the best damn kiss he’s ever had.

Sherlock pulled back and John’s breath caught, but before he could utter a word Sherlock spoke first.

“John! God, John, my sweet John. The hell that you’ve been through and you are willing to witness someone else go through it just so you can save them?

Thank you, John.” Sherlock added, just above a whisper.

John couldn’t speak now. Between his unexpected confession of his history and the mind blowing kiss he just shared with the beautiful man in his arms John was completely shattered.

Without a thought in his head that didn’t revolve around holding the man in his arms impossibly tighter, he did the one thing he knew he couldn’t mess up. He sealed their lips once more, causing both men to sigh and melt into the others bodies.

Time stood still and everything around them was a distant, far off memory, until they needed, finally, to break for air.

As they pried their lips apart, both panting and clutching fistfulls of each others hair and clothes they leaned their foreheads together and chuckled quietly.

“God, I don’t remember ever being kissed so thoroughly before. Good God, your lips are soft, Sherlock!”  
  
“Shut up. You’re getting….stupidly sentimental.” Sherlock added with a laugh.

“You shut up. It’s your fault. You started with the tongue and the ….and the...the ….tongue.” John gestured halfheartedly before letting his arm flop back down onto the arm of the chair.

Sherlock laughed at him, a wide grin spreading across his face as he sighed deeply and laid his head against John’s shoulder.

“I think we should go to bed. I’m suddenly exhausted.”  
  
John hummed his agreement but made no move to get up.  
  
“Right...Bed. That’s um...over there.”  
  
“Yes, John. Very good deduction. Now can we climb into it. I’m sure it’ll be much more comfortable than this chair.”  
  
“Mmmhmm.” John mumbled but still did not move.  
  
When Sherlock moved John grunted out his protest but hadn’t the energy to stop him. It wasn’t until Sherlock locked the door and grabbed the doctor’s hand that he opened his eyes and let the younger man lead him to the bed.

Sherlock climbed in first and smiled shyly up at the doctor who chuckled quietly and grinned stupidly. If he’d had the energy he would have ran and jumped into the bed, wrapping both his arms around Sherlock and squeezing him as tight as he could.

He didn’t. Instead he found himself stumbling over, turning off the lamp and practically falling into the bed while laughing and squirming around to get comfortable. Sherlock chuckled as the doctor finally wiggled in next to him, his back to Sherlock’s chest, as he sighed and moaned appreciatively when Sherlock’s thin, warm arms wrapped around him.

They lay like that for a while, in the quiet without a word, until Sherlock was certain John was almost asleep. He leaned over and kissed the doctor’s hair and whispered.

“Thank you, for saving me.” Before closing his eyes, giving John’s body one last good squeeze and nuzzling his hair before he allowed himself to sleep.

John’s eyes shot open and his heart skipped a beat when he’d heard Sherlock’s words. He’d had to close them tightly to blink back the tears that had threatened to fall. Sherlock Holmes, in five small and simple words, had just confirmed John’s entire purpose in life.

He hadn’t even known he’d hear the words. He most likely said them more for himself than for John. But John had heard them and, in that moment, had sworn to himself and his father’s memory, that he wouldn’t stop until Sherlock Holmes was well and truly safe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a bit at the beginning of this chapter. Then someone sent me something and told me it helped them when they were writing.
> 
> She called it her 'muse' and I can see why. Seriously, if you just need something to calm you, background noise while you're writing or just something to fall asleep to, go to http://www.rainymood.com/ I promise you, it will ease whatever is weighing you down at the moment.
> 
> It's also FANTASTIC for writing.


	14. Take Your Leave.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Give an inch, take a mile.
> 
> But whose fault is it, really, when the person giving is so willing to be taken advantage of.
> 
> Things can only go so well for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive THANK YOU to Tindomerelhloni for helping me with this chapter.
> 
> She was, essentially, my beta, my editor and my common sense detector. (Because if I had posted this chapter the way it was written, originally, it would have been horrendous.)
> 
> Thank you, so much, for your help, Tindo!!

The hours pass quietly and, for the most part, uneventfully. An unexpected noise woke Sherlock from his sleep. His eyes flew open in panic. His first thought was one of the nurses, making their rounds. He glanced around the room to find it empty and then at the clock to find it was only 2 am. The hospital was deadly quiet save for the quiet hum of machinery and the florescent lighting the hospital seems to favor. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. He is thinking both about how horribly boring these four walls are. Even with the notepads and the tablet, internet access and especially with the man who was currently wrapped in his arms. Sherlock is, overwhelmingly bored and fears he might just slowly go insane if he doesn’t get out of this bloody room, away from this god forsaken building.

As much as he enjoyed being in bed with John he had feared he would lose his freedom completely if he didn’t do something soon. There was also his beloved violin, his one cherished item that had been left behind. He wouldn’t put it past his brother to try selling it or giving it away. Hell, he wouldn’t even be shocked to find his flat had been vacated and all his things removed. Hopefully Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t be the kind to take a bribe from his brother and certainly wouldn’t be the type to allow him access without first notifying Sherlock that he’d tried.

Besides, the doctor was sleeping and a few hours out of this building couldn’t hurt. He’d be back before John even woke and the staff, well, he was certain, at this hour, he could slip by them no problem. So he lifted the sheets and gently removed his arms from around his companion and quietly slipped from the bed.

On bare feet he padded quietly to the door after making sure the coast was clear, slipped out of the room and made his way to John’s office, undisturbed. Walked towards the desk, opens the top drawer, finding a small box exactly where he expected  it to be. With a smirk he pockets his keys and wallet as he stands and searches the desk quickly finding John’s keycard as well. After a quick search for his clothes he finds nothing and let’s out a sigh of frustration. Spotting John’s coat hanging on his chair he decides to throw it on, it’s still damp from his earlier outing but he pays no attention as he quickly leaves the office and heads down the hall to the elevators.

  
He pulls out the keycard and swipes it once waiting only a second or two before the beep tells him the card has worked. He walks into the elevator and selects the ground floor. He waits impatiently and when the doors opens he takes a peek down the corridor and notices a group of nurses in the hallway talking. He looks across the hall and finds the loo straight away. He quietly exits the elevator and makes his way, almost silently into the bathroom. He closes the door just enough so it appears closed but with a small enough gap to let in any surrounding noise.  
  
The nurses were gathered round in a small kitchen making tea and chatting amongst themselves. After about ten agonizing minutes, the nurses seem to disperse and start on their rounds again. Taking a deep breath he opens the door and notices two walking away from him down the hall and one entering another patient’s room. He knows he will have to move quickly so he makes his way down the hall, keeping close the to the wall for easy access to a room if he needs to hide.

Making his way to the door he manages to exit the hospital without being spotted and decides to make a run for the road. Checking his wallet he realizes that he doesn’t have any cash so hailing a cab would be useless. So he settled himself in for a long walk, chiding himself for not grabbing an umbrella.

After a long miserable walk, a soaking wet Sherlock arrived limping at his front door. He yelled for the landlady, asking for her first aid kit, but was greeted with silence. He limped up the stairs, stumbled into the bathroom where he plopped himself down on the side of the tub and proceeded to pull a four inch shard of glass out of his foot. Taking deep laboring breaths he stood to check the cabinet only to find it bare of any and all pain medications. Swearing under his breath he grinds his teeth as the pain shoots through his foot. Stumbling back into the sitting room he locates the thin box behind the bull skull on the wall. He makes his way back into the bathroom, breathing hard and staggered from the pain, and collapses onto the floor. Opening the box with shaking hands he carefully removes the cover to the syringe. Filling the needle, he taps out the air bubbles, smiling as relief washes over him.

 

* * *

 

 

Waking up to find the bed empty and cold, the clock on the nightstand reading 4:30 am, John takes one glance around the room, panic immediately setting in. Upon entering his office it takes him a few moments to pull up Sherlock’s chart to find his last known address. Jotting down the information and reaching for his coat he finds it missing. Assuming one of the nurses had taken it to be laundered he quickly headed out to his car, finding his way to the flat he arrived around 5 am.

  
With the door unlocked he makes his way into the flat, calling out for Sherlock but not getting a response. The only light in the flat seemed to be coming from upstairs. Climbing the stairs to 221B and pushing the door open John was able to take in the room and the layout of the flat rather easily. Making his way through the room he came upon two closed doors. Upon entering the first room he finds Sherlock passed out on the floor with the syringe still in his arm.

“Shit!”

John swears and immediately falls to his knees, all of his medical training coming to the forefront of his brain. Looking over the other man he immediately notices Sherlock’s blue lips and shallow breathing. Checking for a pulse and finding it weak only adds to the meltdown John is trying, so hard, not to have. He notices Sherlock’s eyes are not quite closed, but not really open either. They appear to be rolled back into his head while he is laid across the bathroom floor, his head half against the tiled wall and a pool of vomit coating the floor and half of his face and shirt.

Carefully removing the needle from Sherlock’s arm he disposes of it discreetly before returning to Sherlock. He notices the man’s bare and bloody foot and decides to take a closer look. Upon inspecting the wound he realizes it needs cleaning before infection sets in and stands to dampen a cloth with warm water and searches the cabinet for alcohol. After a few moments he finds a half empty bottle and applies some of the liquid directly to the wound, dabbing the blood. Once he is certain the wound is as clean as the situation will allow he finds a plaster and does his best to bandage the foot.

John then leaned over Sherlock, calling out his name, begging for the other man to wake up but receiving no response. Knowing he won’t be able to help him here he makes the one decision he was praying he didn’t have to. Taking his phone from his pocket he dials 999 and gives them the address as well as a description of Sherlock’s symptoms.

After about 8 agonizingly long minutes the paramedics enter into the flat and, in a whirlwind of motion, are very soon carrying Sherlock out on a stretcher. John elects to go with him and, in a trance, hops up into the back of the ambulance. The ride to the hospital was quick, EMT’s hooking up breathing masks, checking vitals and writing in charts. Despite John’s heart pounding from fear of losing his patient the ride passes quick and when John climbed out of the cab only to come face to face with his boss, he knew the trouble had only just begun.

He took Sherlock’s hand, momentarily turning towards him, and silently begs him to pull through before turning back to his boss. Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath the two walk silently to her office where, upon entering, the door is forcefully shut as she turns her full attention to John.

“Never, in all of my years as a Doctor have I ever come across such negligence, Dr. Watson.”

She had taken to standing next to her desk with, what John assumed, was his personnel file. This, he thought, was not going to end well.

“You know what I find odd about this is not the fact that you had a patient escape the facility though, that is, in itself, a horrible liability on both of us, not to mention the hospital itself.

  
No, what I find most disturbing is that one of the nurses has reported to me that, upon finding the room void of your patient, it most certainly, was not void of information, Dr. Watson.”  
  
John gave her a look of pure confusion but his heart sank as she dropped Sherlock’s notepad in his lap. Hesitantly he opened up the notebook and began to skim the entries, assuming they were science or drug related but not at all expecting what greeted him. Entry upon entry detailing the ‘hell’ he had been experiencing, privately, and the enormous amount of energy and strength it took to hide his withdrawal symptoms from John. There were also details regarding John’s own ‘personal care’ for him and when John’s eyes found the details of their less than professional relationship his eyes widened while his heart sank.

Irene stood, arms crossed and heels making her appear much taller from where he sat in the, now very uncomfortable, office chair. She was glaring at the young doctor as she spoke, with a stern, angry tone.

“Tell me, Dr. Watson, because I’m eager to know, exactly how does one of my interns go from promising young student willing to learn to careless, negligent and so utterly disrespectful in just a few short weeks?”

  
John’s stomach was on the verge of turning itself inside out. He wasn’t quite sure if he was meant to speak or to keep his mouth shut. He wanted to defend himself and what he did. He thought about standing up for himself, fighting back but then he realized that it would cost him not only his job but Sherlock’s care, as well. He hung his head and took deep breaths before looking directly up at her and speaking, nervously but honestly.

“I apologize. However, that man, he needs….He requires special attention. He doesn’t open up to just anybody and he trusts me. I was patient with him, I understood him in a way many people don’t. He wouldn’t even eat before. He’d not cared about himself and, yes, he was obviously hiding his symptoms of withdrawal but, in time, I could have coaxed him out of….”  
  
“Enough!”

Shouting and turning to walk around her desk, Irene begins typing furiously at her keyboard while speaking in an eerily calm voice. As she continued speaking her voice became sharper and lost it’s calm demeanor, taking on an edgier, more impatient tone.

  
“Do you think I am willing to let you remain on his case simply because you ‘feel connected’ to the boy? You violated several rules as well as letting the patient escape, essentially leading him to use and end up back in my hospital in far worse condition than when he originally arrived and not to mention, you were having a bloody affair with him!”

Panic and fear are only a few of the emotions warring for John’s attention at Irene’s words. Without fully understanding Sherlock’s situation any and all care he would receive, by anyone other than John, would surely be ignored or neglected by the patient. Leaning forward, hoping to find understanding, John begins speaking, hoping to appeal to the compassionate side of his boss.

“Dr. Adler, I….Look, please, if you’re going to take me off of his case please, I have a file on him, it’s important that people understand who he is and why he has turned to the drugs. Sherlock is not a typical ….”

  
“I said enough, Dr. Watson. I want you to get up, go to your office, clear your desk and be out of my face before I see to it that you will never work as a doctor. Get that damn hand seen to, as well. You shouldn’t even be working with a broken hand and you know you’re supposed to report such things to me as soon as they happen. Another rule you decided to nonchalantly disobey.”

Leaning back in her seat and eyeing him carefully, eyes softening and speech now taking on a much more quiet tone as she continues. Disappointment and frustration evident in her voice and body language.

“Two weeks suspension, Dr. Watson. It should be more but I happen to know that, when you do your job properly, you are a damn good Doctor. Now, don’t make me fire you completely. You will be taken off of Sherlock’s case permanently and when you do return you are to report to me at the beginning and end of each shift. No questions asked and please, be on time, for once.”

John took several deep breaths before standing and leaving the room. He turned the corner and entered his office, picking the key out of his pocket he unlocked the drawer with Sherlock’s file and placed it on his desk for the next Doctor. He gathered his belongings but, before leaving, decided to download the digital copy of Sherlock’s file and the notes he had managed to add during his short stay here, to a thumb drive and stuffed it into his bag along with the stethoscope and placed his badge on the desk as well.

He had managed to sneak into Sherlock’s room undetected, picking up the tablet and quickly scribbling out an apology to the young man and sliding under his pillow. His throat felt suddenly dry as he looked at their shared chairs facing each other, just waiting for them to sit, share a meal and some conversation. He glanced at the bed where they shared their first night and around the room where they shared, so much, of their time together. Sighing in defeat he made a promise to himself, and Sherlock, that this wouldn’t be the last they’d see of each other. He refused to let it be the end. His boss and Mycroft both, be damned. He’d find his way back to Sherlock’s life, or die trying.

 

**Note**

Sherlock,

I’m sorry. They’ve removed me from your case.

I’ll try to keep in touch...Had to take the tablet, but I’ve left my mobile number.

John.


	15. I'll Not Sit Idly By.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's decisions has possibly cost him his future as a medical professional. Yet, he isn't going to allow that to stop him helping Sherlock in anyway he can.
> 
> If breaking into the boys flat to find what he holds most dear is what it takes, John is willing to go, at least, that far.
> 
> He's been strong so far, but how long will it be before the good Doctor breaks?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a filler chapter.
> 
> I've had it written for ages and debated whether or not to lengthen it. I am posting it as is because I'm quite proud of my writing skills with this one.
> 
> I had some help editing and proof reading this one as well. Tindomerelhloni was my beta on this chapter.
> 
> So if you liked this style writing, as it is much different to the rest of the story, then I shall try to continue it. Tindo and I won't be working together anymore so it may vary but she gave me some great tips. I'll try to remember and follow them all.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.
> 
> I am quite proud of John here. So let me know what you think in the comments below.

John exited the room quickly as he shouldered on his, still damp, coat. Making his way over to the clock he swiped his card and made his way to the lift. Once inside he groaned as he let his head fall back against the wall. Scrubbing his hands over his face he took a few deep breaths, attempting to calm himself down. As soon as the lift stopped and he got out he felt his phone buzz with a message. He thought about ignoring it but decided he’d better not. After all what else could go wrong today?  
  
Found yourself in a bit of trouble now, haven’t you, Dr. Watson? MH  
  
John groaned as he stuffed his phone back into his pocket. Making his way outside he managed to grab a cab back to his flat. After about five minutes of deafening silence in the back of the cab he fished out his mobile and stared at the message. Sighing in defeat he typed out a quick reply and turned it off, immediately.  
  
I’ve not given up on him.  Nor will I ever. JW

Upon arrival of the flat he paid the cabbie and climbed out only to realize that he’d given the incorrect address. He turned to notify the cabbie but he had already taken off in hopes of finding another fair. John shook his head and began to walk, in the rain, back towards his own flat when something made him stop. He turned and realized that he was, indeed, standing in front of Sherlock’s flat on Baker Street. Scratching his head he decided to try the door and, to his astonishment, he found it still unlocked from the earlier visit.  
  
Walking inside he realized he had conflicted emotions about breaching some sort of ethical code by entering the flat without permission. At that moment he remembered Sherlock wanting his violin and had decided to use that as his excuse should his presence in the flat be found out. Walking up the stairs to the flat seemed to take ages as he was still cold, wet and just altogether uncomfortable. As he reached the door to Sherlock’s flat he hesitated a moment before slowly sliding the door open. Walking inside now, he was able to properly in all the detail of the rather cluttered but cozy flat.

John made his way over to the chair after removing his coat. He ran his fingers through his hair in a failed attempt to tame it before giving up and absentmindedly taking a seat in the nearest arm chair. He took a look around at everything there was to see taking note of some of the more noticeable objects in the room. The skull photo on the wall, the mess of science equipment in the kitchen but the elk skull hanging between the windows with a pair of headphones draped over it’s head really made him chuckle.

Shaking his head he noticed an elegant looking case beside the sofa and stood to walk over to it. Picking up the case he realized this was, in fact, what Sherlock had been asking for. John took a seat back in his chair and opened up the case. Holding the expensive looking instrument in his hands he could tell, even without Sherlock’s massive intelligence, just how well cared for this one item was. It was really the only thing that appeared to be properly protected in the flat. It made John smiled, happy to know that there really was something that the younger man held dear, and his entire life did not, in fact, revolve around the drugs. That smile was quickly followed by a frown and another sigh of defeat as he let his head fall back against the chair. He needed to find someway of helping Sherlock. Some way of remaining in the other man’s life. He felt a connection there and it wasn’t simply a patient / doctor connection. He had feelings for the other man and, he had hoped anyway, that Sherlock would return those feelings, whether he voiced them out loud or not. What would he do now though, he did not know. He had two weeks to figure it out, as well as properly heal his broken hand, and he would figure it out. He was determined not to let one incident ruin his career or his chances at being a part of the younger man’s life.

Not one to sit and wallow in self pity, he stood up and placed the violin back in it’s protective case upon the coffee table. He stood up straight and took a deep breath. Since he was here, he decided that he should do a preliminary sweep of the flat. So when Sherlock did finally come home, he wouldn’t have anything here that might tempt him into a relapse. John started in the bathroom and then moved into the kitchen before making his way into the sitting room. He hadn’t found anything, apart from cigarettes, that Sherlock had hidden away in a bag under a disturbing looking human skull on top of the mantelpiece. He decided, as much as he hated the idea of the other man smoking, to leave them where they were.

After searching the rooms and coming up empty he decided to check upstairs. He took a quick look around the, surprisingly empty room, and found nothing. Feeling satisfied with the search he returned to the sitting room and glanced down the hall towards the one door he had not entered. By process of elimination this one had to be Sherlock’s bedroom. He began to slowly walk down the hall but once he came upon the door his ethical code began shouting at him not to enter without permission and he almost listened. Instead, he placed his hand upon the knob and turned, the door clicked open and he entered slowly. This is not something Dr. John Watson would normally do. However, with the situation at hand, and his inability to keep watch over the other man, had left him with little choice as to how to properly care for him. So if invading his personal space was what had to be done to ensure that he come home to a clean and drug free environment, once he, himself, was clean, then he would do whatever it took. No matter the consequences.

John was impressed with the state of the younger man’s bedroom. Where the sitting room and kitchen were all chaos and clutter, this room was quite tidy and clean. The walls were bare apart from a poster of the periodic table and the room was simply decorated with an already made up bed and a wardrobe in the corner. John decided to check the wardrobe and shelves but came up empty. He then walked over to the bed, checking below the comforter and mattresses’ but coming up empty as well. He checked the pillows and took one last look around the room before exiting.

Feeling better about the situation he decided to head back home before the rain got worse. Tossing on his coat and picking up Sherlock’s beloved instrument he closed the door behind him and headed out into the cold and wet streets of London. Hailing a cab took about ten minutes meaning he was soaked to the bone by the time one actually picked him up and brought him to his own flat. Paying the driver he climbed out and practically ran to the door. Unlocking it and slamming it shut once he entered he decided a hot tea and a bath was in order. He had walked into the sitting room and laid the violin on his chair before heading to the bathroom to strip and fill the tub. While the tub was running he wrapped a spare towel around his waist and made his way into the kitchen to boil the kettle and make himself a proper cup of tea. Taking a seat at the table he rested his hand on his lap and flinched at the pain he felt. He suddenly felt a twinge of guilt as he had been spending so much time worrying about Sherlock that he had spent little to no time caring for his own injuries. He decided that taking the rest of his day to simply rest and relax his hand was probably in his best interest.

The kettle began to whistle and he stood to fix his tea and head into the bath. Placing his mug on the side of the tub he carefully climbed in, resting his injured hand on the side as he carefully picked up his cup and sipped. He moaned in delight as he laid back and let the heat from the water and the tea surround his senses. He tried to forget the ordeal with Sherlock and the confrontation with Irene, though, to be fair, it was always right there, in the forefront of his mind. It was also why he was, at just past one in the afternoon, soaking in the tub at home instead of tending to his patient in the hospital room. Closing his eyes and trying not to think about anything his mind wandered to the words that Mycroft had said in his message.

The man was an enigma, for certain. He had no idea how he had known or found out so quickly. Though, he supposed, if Mycroft was as powerful as he acts when attempting to threaten John, then perhaps he does have people in the hospital who were keeping an eye out. How much then, did he know? Had he any idea of how intimate things had become between the two of them? Did he understand that John had no intentions of simply leading his brother on? He had so many questions he needed answers to. He had finally settled upon finishing his bath and sorting it out in the morning. He would reply to Mycroft’s message and ask to meet in a place a little less daunting and a lot more...public.

After another half an hour John’s tea was mostly gone and his bath water had turned to luke warm, he decided it was time to get out. After slipping carefully from the tub he wrapped the towel around himself and, taking his mug, traveled into his bedroom to dry off and throw on some pants and a tee shirt and pajama bottoms. He had turned his phone off earlier to avoid any further confrontation from Sherlock’s brother but something was telling him to check it.

Making his way into the sitting room he grabbed his phone from the pocket of his coat, turned it on and made his way back to his bedroom. Laying back on the bed he saw two missed calls and a missed text message. Knowing the text was likely from Mycroft he left it alone for the moment and set about checking his answerphone. Both missed calls were from unidentified numbers but no messages were left. He wondered, idly, if that could have been Sherlock. Though, he thinks that Sherlock would have left him some sort of message or hint as to whether or not it was him. Pushing that thought aside, assuming he would have little to no contact of the outside world John decided that he needed to eat.

Cooking, in his state, seemed like a monumental task and so he decided he would order take away and phoned up his favorite Chinese restaurant and placed his order. Grabbing the remote he turned on the television, idly flipping through the channels when another beep and a vibration made him jump unexpectedly. Sighing deeply he picked up his phone and found one missed message from Mycroft and another from his boss, Irene. Odd, he thought, that she would text instead of calling, however, he checked the message anyway and found it oddly disconcerting.

I’m not supposed to be sharing this with you, but, your patient is being rather….problematic. I’ve gone through the notes you’ve left in his file but they do not seem to indicate any such behavior while under your care. I’ll be making further notes, to which I will allow you access.. If such behavior continues we may need to isolate or restrain him. I’ll keep you updated on the progress, assuming there is any. - IA

John’s stomach knotted and his heart dropped. Had he really just read that properly? Sherlock couldn’t have deteriorated that much in less than 24 hours out of John’s care, could he? God, just the thought of isolation was bad enough but restraining him? Was the truly necessary? John found himself replying without thinking and by the time he had realized what he had typed it was already too late, the message had been sent.

Sherlock wasn’t even that bad when I first met him! He was unstable and a bit hostile, at times, but he was never violent or unruly. Surely his behavior can be quelled and does not require isolation or restraint.

I strongly advise against the latter as this might put the patient into a rage induced frenzy causing him to lose all sense of security and trust in no-one, not even myself. Please send notes if convenient. He may, no, who am I kidding? He WILL refuse to eat the food that is given to him by your staff. I have made a list of the foods he will eat, it isn’t much, but it’s better than starvation, which he will allow to happen, if you ignore the notes I have provided.

The patient needs stimulation all the time. He becomes irritable whenever bored and he needs something to occupy his mind as well as his hands when he falls into these episodes of extreme boredom. Sherlock is a brilliant man, he just needs someone who properly cares about him and his well being. - JW

 

John read and re-read the rather long message sent to his boss and decided, no matter how it sounded, that there was nothing further he could do about the situation from home. He reached for his laptop and opened up his word document and started to make notes on everything that had happened that day. If nothing else could be done, the least he could do, was take note of any and all of the information he was being offered  Though, he had a very bad feeling about Sherlock’s sudden decline and he was certain it was only partially due to the drugs in his system.


	16. !!! Temp Update !!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an update as to why I have been MIA!!

!!! NO I HAVE NOT AND WILL NOT ABANDON THIS FIC !!!

 

 

MY COMPUTER BROKE AND i DON'T HAVE ANOTHER ONE AND NOT EVEN A TABLET AND i'M A TERRIBLE HORRIBLE ROTTEN HUMAN AND I HAVEN'T UPDATED SINCE THE HOLIDAYS AND I KNOW AND I'M SORRY BUT I'M BUYING A NEW ONE SOON AND YOU HAVE NO REASON TO BELIEVE ME AND I AM RANTING AND NOT USING PUNCTUATION BUT I AM BEGGING YOUR FORGIVENESS AND ASKING YOU TO PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP ON THIS FIC IAM HAND WRITING EVERYTHING AND I WILL UPDATE AS SOON AS I GET MY NEW LAPTOP AND I'M SORRY AND PLEASE DON'T HATE ME OKAY I'M GOING TO BEFORE YOU ALL B*TCH SLAP ME SORRY BYE!!!


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